


The Sugilanon of Lalli’s Woes (and Happiness)

by trashpocket



Series: SSSS; A Series of Wonderful, Fortunate Events [4]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: A story about love, AU, Basically, Big Gay Love Story, Catasrophe, Ceremonies, Childhood Friends, Courtship, Cuddling, Culture, Cuties, Destruction, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Folklore, Gods, Gore, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Kindred Spirits, Love, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, No Beta, Philippine Folktale, Promises, Singing, Slight OOC, Spirits, Story within a Story, We Die Like Men, Weaving, a bit of, and, mythical creatures, prayers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:41:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashpocket/pseuds/trashpocket
Summary: Sigrun and Mikkel venture into a strange town on a strange island, and hear the old Sugilanon of Lalli; a boy who fell in love, and nearly destroyed the universe.Or:A Retelling of “The Sugilanon of Epefania’s Heartbreak” (A short story taken from Ian Rosales Casocot’s  “Heartbreak and Magic” (2011), with my own take and twists.
Relationships: Lalli Hotakainen & Emil Västerström, Lalli Hotakainen/Emil Västerström, Mikkel Madsen & Sigrun Eide
Series: SSSS; A Series of Wonderful, Fortunate Events [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835107
Comments: 33
Kudos: 17





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, HEY! New story, based on a Philippine Story, with my own takes and add-ins, since originally, the story is a bit more short and sadder than the one I'll be writing. 
> 
> All you need to know is, unlike the original story (well, another version of the original story, since there are several), I made Lalli and Emil friends when they were younger, before the ACTUAL events of the story (the ones I took from the Sugilanon) happen. I did this, cause I wanted to establish a connection between Lalli and Emil, and not make this story a "love at first sight thing (though I really wanted to). I added a mix of a few others version of the story, so this is like, a conversion of different aspects of the Sugilanon basically.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy and leave me your thoughts at the end, or something!!!!

“All of history–and all stories–eventually collide.  
That is how the Great Laon creates new worlds.”  
— _From an old script written on bamboo, found in Ilog, Negros Island_

Sigrun Eide travels the world with her companion, Mikkel Madsen. They venture to new places, find new adventures and expeditions to fill their warriors’ hearts with stories and pride. They rarely settle down in one place, opting to move and leave their mark one by one, leaving a dent in history where their stories may be saved, and passed down, for the younger to hear and carry. Everyday they grow older, and live each day as if they’ve been their youngest. They often forget that at times that they are mortal creatures, clumsily stumbling down the halls of time, to eventually reach their end at the corridor. But at stark moments, where they’re just a hair’s breath away from death, near to the door at the end of the corridor, they remember their mortal bodies. Remember they are dying warriors.

And so, they venture once more.

Now, they are in their early thirties, with stories that mar their entire flesh, it would be a miracle if they could be written down. After their ship nearly sunk on the way, Sigrun found it appropriate to venture to the island they happened to come across, and find lodging for a few nights, as they waited for their ship to be repaired. They ventured into the heart of a town, named _Old Tolong_ ; a town at the southern end of the island, Buglas, to find an inn. The town was both beautiful and strange, or perhaps it was, because both Mikkel and her had never been into a country near the equator before. But still, there was something strange about the town, and they could feel it faintly, in the marrow of their bones. Like a niggling feeling in the back of their heads.

It was about how the sun beat high into the sky, yet clouds rolled in like fields (the sky should be cloudless, really), sheltering away the harsh rays and keeping the town’s food crops from drying up. The way the mountains overhead drew cool air that ceased the humidity of that year’s summer. The way the moon drew the tide and protected the small island, and even stranger: how the town was rumored to be protected with magic and spirits. Some elder people lit herbs, like an incense, and had waved it around their homes, mumbling indecipherable words.

“ _Ceremonies and prayers”_ , their skald had said. “ _Prayers to what?”_ Mikkel had asked, and their skald had answered: “ _to the spirits and goddesses who live and coexist alongside them. They seek protection”._

Naturally, Sigrun didn’t believe in any of that nonsense, though she understood that different parts of the world held their different beliefs and systems. The people here mingled with each other freely, kind and welcoming, more so than a few other countries they had been to, but still, the people were strange; besides the farmers who smiled and waved at them, in awe of the foreigners. The townsfolk were highly superstitious. Sigrun witnessed a group of children, where a younger child of the group pointed into the forest. One of the older children hissed at the younger one, warning him, and then, the child had apologized to the forest, bit his finger, and then spat on the ground.

Sigrun would’ve cast aside all these events just as being another country, but an irrational part within her told her to just _try_ and _hold on_ to that belief. The notion to believe in the possibility of the impossible was something she wavered in to believe, but she was hard-pressed not to.

So, Sigrun swept the feeling aside. It was in Old Tolong, in its summer heat, dusty streets, and clustered wooden houses, where she found that there were people already drinking in a small bodega, right next to the inn they were staying in. Now _this_ was a sight that Sigrun wanted to see.

“See, Mikkel— _look_! These people sure look like they know how to enjoy their time,” Sigrun pointed giddily at the men who set around in their wooden stools, passing around their alcohol and exchanging stories. A few women nearby the bodega were in their own separate group, gossiping, and occasionally quipping at the men, bringing everybody to laugh.

Mikkel pressed his lips together in a thin line, unimpressed. “Though I enjoy my own fair share of alcohol, I hardly think drinking midday is sensible,” he chided her, and Sigrun groaned, cursing to the heavens for her hard-pressed companion.

“This is why you’re still in my mutinist list, always ruining my fun and disobeying my orders.” Sigrun grumped, folding her arms together, as Mikkel only scoffed.

“I’m the _only_ person in the list you have, and I only disobey orders with the best interest in mind,” Mikkel pointed out, nonplussed, but a teasing smirk revealing itself on his lips. 

Sigrun only narrowed her eyes, tapping her foot on the dusty ground minutely. “That’s _still_ disobeying your captain’s orders, Madsen.”

Mikkel only smiled wider, making Sigrun snort, as he said, “That, it is. And I do not plan on making excuses for it either, _Captain Eide_.”

They grinned at each other, before approaching the bodega, deciding to join in on the merriment. One of their colleagues, who was their skald, had gone off to search for somebody to fix the boat, so Sigrun and Mikkel understood nothing, but they were fortunate enough that one of the gossiping women knew how to translate their language.

Sigrun had a way with people that made her match their enthusiasm, and blend in nearly seamlessly in the chatter, while Mikkel kept her in check, and only occasionally joined in when he was interested at the topic at hand. They had just finished sharing another story of theirs, when they were offered food.

“My friend asked if you want some _baye-baye_ ,” the woman, Inay, asked to the both of them. Mikkel, who finally had the reprieve to see food, nodded, curious to the delicacies they had in this town, while Sigrun narrowed her eyes apprehensively at the rice-cake like thing they were presented with.

“What is _that_?” Sigrun prodded the flat thing, covered in white powder, and somewhat dense. It was revealed to be a cake delicacy, made of sticky rice and coconut, pounded together, and covered in flour. Inay smiled, and almost snorted at the way Sigrun handled the thing in wonder, nearly like a child, who was suspicious of a vegetable. Mikkel looked at the thing, as if it were a strange specimen.

“It tastes like honeycomb, quite different from the bland ones produced by neighboring towns and regions. They cannot trump Old Tolong, with a delicacy that has been refined by my friend’s family for years!” Inay told them proudly, on behalf of their friend, whose name was Aada. Mikkel and Sigrun greeted Aada, a gossipy eighty-year-old woman, with hearty waves of their hands.

“Wow, they _do_ taste like honeydew,” Sigrun exclaimed, in between a mouthful of baye-baye, the gummy thing nearly gluing her mouth shut. As Inay conveyed the message to Aada, Sigrun turned to Mikkel. “You should learn this. Improve your cooking skills. We might _actually_ come to like your food, then.”

Mikkel rolled his eyes. “I do not know how they make this, nor do I know how to replicate how it tastes. Who knows, if I made it myself, it might still taste like candle-wax.”

Sigrun made a face at that. “Does everything you cook just _magically_ turn into candle-wax?”

Mikkel raised his brows. “I think you know the answer to that.” Sigrun fake gagged at the thought of their “ _candle-wax soup_ ”, Mikkel’s one and only specialty.

“Magic?” Inay perked up at the word, turning to face Mikkel and Sigrun with a near twinkle in her eyes. “Do you want to hear an old _sugilanon_ of Tolong? You both have been telling us of your stories of the outside, we should obviously tell ours!” Before the two could even answer or ask any questions, Inay rapidly fired a question to Aada, who perked up at Inay’s question. Mikkel watched as Aada looked apprehensive at first, before she acquiesced in defeat. She turned to the both of them and said something with a rather tired smile, as if the story was something she got asked rather often to retell.

“What did she say? What’s the story about?” Sigrun asked, and Mikkel listened intently to what Inay had to say.

“She said yes, of course! The old sugilalon is about love, and a boy named Lalli,” Inay said at first. Sigrun was about to ask who that was, but Inay had beat her to it. “A story about a boy who nearly destroyed the universe.”


	2. Emil and Lalli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story begins, and we flicker through moments that hold significance to the tale of Lalli. 
> 
> When Emil steps in, everything just somehow falls into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations/Definitions:  
> Encanto- Spirit  
> Diwata- Goddesses (and fairies)  
> Kapre- Tree Giants  
> Deuende- Goblins, Elves, or Dwarves  
> Babaylan- Shamans/Priestesses/ Healers/ Witches/Seers/etc  
> Mananambal- Healer (Babaylans can be Healers)  
> Bakya- wooden sandals/footwear  
> Lola- grandmother  
> Anak- child  
> ____________________________
> 
> I am putting translations for any new words before each chapter begins. I am not that very good with world building, or immersion, so please be merciful!!! If you have any comments, or thoughts, please feel free to drop one down below!!! It would absolutely make my world!!!! As always, please enjoy!!!!
> 
> (p.s. i might drop some random facts down below)

_“Heartbreak, it can be said, is the precursor to creation.”_ — Ian Rosales Casocot

* * *

It was said to be long ago, when Lalli was born; to a time when _encantos_ and _diwatas_ still walked the land. A time to when they haven’t been chased away by _kapres,_ and _deuendes_ ; a time in which the Spanish have not come yet to invade. It was a time wherein Christian rituals have not intertwined itself in the history of this lonesome land by the Pacific, blood and culture diluted into the face of a new culture and religion, nearly erasing itself in the forgetfulness of people. It was in a time, where men and women lived equally, and worshiped their gods with their own harvest and the shedding of their blood. A time where there were all the manners of _Babaylans_ , and all the manners of magic and spirits, and greater forces, coexisting in the land.

Lalli was born, in Old Tolong, in an island named Buglas. He was born in a small nipa house in the heart of the town; a house like a wooden box, standing on four pegs, with flimsy planks of wood, called stairs, connected to the wooden landing of the house, ending to the dusty ground. He was born on a silent night, where the screams of a laboring woman should’ve been heard, and should’ve alerted the town, to call the help of a _Mananambal_.

Strangely, there was no _Mananambal_ present to aid his mother, Tuuliki. Only Lalli’s grandmother, Ensi, had been present when her daughter went into labor. It would prove to be a haunting night to Ensi; a night of calm instructions, blood, and an unnerving silence. A night so peaceful, and so dreadful in its peacefulness, it had created a pandemonium in Ensi.

 _Because when Tuuliki gave birth to Lalli, Tuuliki never made a sound, nor did she cry_.

“I-it’s okay, if you have to cry or to shout, child. It will be really painful to push the child out.” Ensi had told her daughter shakily, as she saw the head of the baby popping out of the apex of Tuuliki’s thighs. Ensi only had growing apprehension in her chest when Tuuliki gazed at her blankly, not even a pinch of pain on her brows, when even the gods knew that childbirth was the most difficult, and painful thing a woman could physically bear in her life; the power to create and give birth.

Tuuliki gazed at her own mother, not even sweating. “It’s okay. I’ll just keep pushing, mama.”

And Lalli had been born in the night, where Tuuliki never once grunted or shrieked in pain at the birth of her child. Ensi wonders at times what had happened to her child. Had an _encanto_ touched her? Had she been blessed by a _diwata_? _Cursed?_

Ensi would never know, for her daughter had been whisked away by an _encanto,_ when Lalli was merely ten. She had been feeding their chickens that day, as Lalli helped Ensi to husking the floors, and dusting out the house. They had not seen how the _encanto,_ who lived in the mango tree that loomed over their house, had swooped in on that windless day. It had swept its branches towards Tuuliki, and hugged her in a mock of an embrace. Then, she disappeared— _spirited away, really_ —leaving her _bakya_ on the ground.

Even with the strange circumstances of Lalli’s birth, Tuuliki had raised him in their small nipa house, with as much love as she could give, even in the absence of his father. But the disappearance of Lalli’s mother left a hole that could not be filled; an ache that bore resemblance to dry leaves left out on the dusty streets, left to die and shrivel under the weight of the sun. _Abandonment_ , Lalli would learn it was named.

Ensi would watch him, as he sat by the window, watching the strange way the days turned and rotated. He would stare off, beyond the window, through the large banana leaves, and simply stare somewhere else the sun could never burn his eyes. Ensi learned to both be angry with the spirits, and live in fear of them. How could they have whisked her only daughter away? How could they have left this child _motherless_? Ensi was a widow, who aged every passing day; could feel the crumble of her bones, peeling off like the bark of an old tree.

Ensi cursed the romantic whimsies and ploys of the spirits. She cursed them, and feared them all the same, as she looked with sad eyes upon Lalli, who became oddly silent with the absence of his mother. _What would happen to him, with no protection? What would happen to him, if she disappeared?_

Lalli, who had been sitting on the floor of their old, termite-ridden home, had felt something change. As he sat there, along with grandmother Ensi, by the window, trying to urge the days to pass by faster, letting his mind wander among the clouds; he felt a shift in his mind, like a tickle. It was akin to the feeling of perfectly pushing a latch on a window, the pieces falling into place. But it was distant—like an _echo_? A _whisper_? It was in the back of his head, but it rippled in soft murmurs.

Then Lalli met grandmother Ensi’s eyes, and he understood what the words were. _They were Ensi’s thoughts_.

“I’ll be okay, grandmother,” he told her firmly, _boldly_ , with a steel in his eyes no child could wish to iron and straighten out. “I can take care of myself. And if need be, there will always be love to watch over me, just like mama taught me.” The sharpness of his eyes reflected a truth she could not even begin to fathom; the sharp edge of a blade, piercing and cutting right into her, with a side so reflective, it mirrored nothing but the truth.

Ensi had widened her eyes at the declaration, shocked with conviction he held, more than the suddenness he had presented it with. Lalli held his mother’s love and beliefs, with such a firm conviction, that it sounded like a preordained duty to carry on with it. _A truth written in the manner of a gospel_. And if that truth would later be a blessing or a tragedy, Ensi no longer cared whatever it was.

Because Lalli didn’t need her protection, as he had said.

He had love, and Ensi no longer felt the need to be worried, instead, choosing to carry on later to create the famous _baye-baye_ of Old Tolong, to keep Lalli and her with money enough to stay out of the streets. She could not worry over Lalli’s safety anymore, because she had failed.

( _Because Lalli had already been touched by the spirits, too late for her to even try and protect him. Magic had already touched her grandson._ )

So, Ensi continued on, already knowing that Old Tolong might fall to ruin, and all she had to do was just wait.

* * *

Lalli was merely ten, when his mother left him. An impressionable age, to be able to taste and live with the feeling of abandonment. It was bitter, and painful, often times so dizzying and deep, that Lalli would, forget that he was abandoned in the first place. _Left empty without a mother._ Grandmother Ensi was not the same; did not love like Tuuliki did. His mother had taught him to love with all of his heart, his mind, and his body. _To endure_. To also love himself, and be firm, and be _sure_ in his love. _Sacrifice._ But Grandmother Ensi never grew the idea the same way Tuuliki did. The mother and her daughter may be of same blood, but they were different.

To Lalli, it was oh so different.

This taste of abandonment left him with a craving for affection, so deep, that it had made his eyes darken until they were grey blue. A void that one could try to search the light within, and fail. Everything he loved, he held so close to his heart, holding it with a vice like grip, that the magnetic force the moon had on the tides would become jealous. Lalli’s love was hidden so deep, that it looked like to others, that he could barely love at all.

They were wrong.

He loved so many things, but the fear of abandonment made him reluctant to love a lot of those things. Being blessed just enough to not be homeless, he and his grandmother had little things to love and to hold on to, so he only loved what he could. Lalli was horrible at making friends; he was quiet, plain, and silent, so he had little people in his life to love.

But, still, Lalli loved so deeply. It was either love, or _not at all_.

Then, he had met a boy named Emil.

The kids had been playing nearby in the fields, and Lalli, being a child himself, wished to join in on their foolery. But his feet stayed rooted to the ground, as he sat on the small stairs of his home. The clouds had rolled in on Old Tolong again, protecting them from the heat of the sun, though the sun peaked through quite often. Lalli wished to run to the children, and play with them. Make friends he would soon grow to love.

But he could not move. _What if they would leave him? Could the spirits whisk them away as well?_

Lalli was surprised, when he found another child his age approaching him, hair as yellow as the hair of corn, with eyes blue and clearer than the sky overhead. When the boy smiled widely, approached him to ask about his grandmother’s _baye-baye_ , Lalli swore that the sky and the land had just created a child and had left him stumbling upon the earth. Lalli grew rather self-conscious underneath the boy’s unabashed staring.

“Is your _lola_ home?” the boy asked, timid but a determination shining in his eyes. “My mama wants some _baye-baye_ , and she told me to come over here. Is you _lola_ still making them?”

Lalli never answered, eyes just boring onto the boy, and it was now the boy’s turn to become shy and squirm underneath Lalli’s insistent gaze. The boy tried once more, in childish determination. “Is your lola home, or not? Please, tell me, or— _oh_! Of course, my name is Emil! I forgot to introduce myself! My manners slipped!”

 _Emil_. A strange name, one that Lalli would soon come to memorize, immortalized in the edges of his mind, and stitched into the veins of his heart. But in break of the clouds of Old Tolong, the sun briefly beating down on the top of their heads, Lalli was reluctant to say anything. What if the spirits came for Emil too? What if Lalli was cursed to not have friends? Would the mango tree take Emil as well? At the thought of the tree, Lalli narrowed his eyes, determined to make Emil leave, lest the mango tree come grappling for another person again.

Before Lalli could say anything off-putting or scathing, Ensi had come down from the hut, and was surprised to find Emil, who immediately went to her, opting to ignore the broody boy by the stairs. Lalli didn’t mind that, but he glared at the mango tree, hoping it would not do anything dangerous. Luckily, the _encanto_ in the mango tree wasn’t interested in little children.

 _But it was interested in his mother_. Lalli hissed at the tree, bitterness seeping into his heart. He doubted the _Encanto_ knew his mother anyway, and how she loved so genuinely and deeply, but Lalli didn’t push his thoughts some more down that road, afraid his negative thoughts would awaken the tree.

He stared down the streets more, noting the way the clouds rolled in to lessen the beat of the sun, before he heard clumsy steps going down the stairs. Lalli looked up, in time to see Emil smile brightly at him, the _baye-baye_ wrapped in banana leaves in his chubby hands. Lalli didn’t smile back, but the unnerving wide eyes he had set on Emil softened fractionally. Emil stopped at the foot of the stairs, right next to Lalli.

Emil sat next to the boy, and leaned in to whisper something as if it were a dirty secret. “Your _lola_ is sort of scary, you know.” If it were any other person, Lalli would’ve scrunched his face up and glared menacingly at Emil, and probably would’ve bit him and scratched him up for good measure. It wouldn’t be the first time he would’ve gotten into a fight with another child. But Lalli didn’t react, only nodded subtly, because, _yeah, grandmother Ensi was scary, sometimes_. That, plus Lalli was too reluctant to act mean to Emil, whose hair shined like the stars in the firmament, and whose eyes were a depth-less blue that took the sky hostage.

“Mhmm,” was all Lalli intoned, agreeing with Emil who beamed at him briefly, before standing up, dusting off non-existent dirt from himself, and making a motion to leave. Eyes widening, Lalli felt panic-stricken for a moment, his child mind scrambling for a way to try and talk a bit longer to Emil, to _try_ and stop him from leaving.

Lalli caught Emil’s patterned sleeve, and he was suddenly aware how soft and lovely the material was, so unlike Lalli’s coarse clothes. _Probably a noble_ , Lalli thought. Emil turned to Lalli curiously, and Lalli blurted out, “Lalli.”

“Huh?”

Lalli didn’t meet Emil’s gaze. “My name. It’s Lalli.”

Emil stared at Lalli with a surprised expression, before giggling to himself. Lalli blinked. _Why was he laughing? Was his name weird?_ Lalli was about to narrow his eyes on the boy, and bare his teeth at him, but Emil smiled brightly. “I know! Your lola told me your name already!” _Oh._

Lalli’s hold on Emil’s sleeve loosened, and he took his hand back to his side, wishing he could unwind time and stop himself from even blurting out anything at all.

Emil made a sound. “Lalli. _Lalli_. A very weird name.”

Lalli decided to glare at him this time, expression sour. “Not any weirder than _Emil_.”

Emil drew a sheepish expression, chuckling. “Ah, true. Both our names are very weird.” A beat of silenced passed in between the two, finding no words to share, but Emil had always been one to keep talking; to let everything flow as a river would. So, he asked, “Do you have any friends, Lalli?”

Lalli didn’t have any. So, he shrugged, and made a non-committal sound, to which Emil seemed to brighten up about. Like the brilliant halo of the sun, the clouds of Old Tolong momentarily broke apart and shined in Emil’s hair, separating Emil from the shadows of his termite ridden home. And perhaps Lalli was wrong. _Emil might be the child of the sun_.

With the warmth of fire seeping into Lalli’s heart, Emil said the next damning words that would begin the destruction of the world. “I don’t have any either, so _be mine_.”

* * *

Lalli runs across the fields, awfully agile, but understandably so, in his lanky frame, as he and Emil chased after a chicken that had escaped the chicken coup back at Lalli’s house. It was obvious to Lalli that Emil was a bit more pampered than he was, but he didn’t care. He had a _friend_ , so he was less annoyed at the boy, and just urged himself to be patient for Emil’s sake. Patient enough to wait twenty paces ahead, before running once again. 

“Y-you have to slow down, Lalli,” Emil bent over, sweat dripping down his face. “It’s just a chicken, it could come right back, you know.” Lalli held the chicken in his hands, making sure that it would not escape a second time, as Emil fixed his hair, wiping away the sweat.

“Or it could not. Somebody could’ve eaten her.” Lalli told him plainly, which made Emil pause in thought, as if he hadn’t even come to that conclusion. Then he nodded, looked at the chicken with pity.

“Ah, I see,” Emil said, as he leaned in closer, talking more to the chicken than to Lalli himself. “So, we should just take care of her, huh? That’ll be no problem for us!”

Lalli blinks, mostly doesn’t react, except for the minute widening of his eyes. “ _We”_ , Emil had said, and _“us”_ , he had ended with. As they walked across the tall fields of corn, and followed back the path to the heart of Old Tolong, they avoided venturing into the forests, afraid of the _encantos_ and _diwatas_ they could disturb. Lalli turned over the words in his head.

_We. Us._

_Together._

_Not alone._

He held the chicken tighter, afraid his heart might fall out of his chest. Emil kept chattering away, and Lalli swore his words were loud enough to drown out the way the stars spoke across the sky, and hummed in thought of the two children.

But it wasn’t just Lalli. It wasn’t just Emil now.

It was: _we, together, us, both, them_.

The stars and the world would later learn that.

* * *

“Bangbangin turned into a _Babaylan,_ finally _._ ” Lalli told him, under the refuge of the stars, already glimmering away in a tumultuous crescendo, unfathomable by the human mind. Lalli often wonders if he could catch the stars in his hands, and put them in his friend’s hair.

Emil smiled at the news, and looked up at the sky, hoping to trace the stars, just like Lalli did with his depthless eyes. Emil wonders if the stars are trapped in the darkness of Lalli’s eyes, just like the calm lakes reflecting the night sky. “Ah, good for him!” He finally says, actually feeling pretty proud for the young man of their town, who Emil forgot had just transitioned.

“ _Her_ ,” Lalli corrected. “She finally achieved her dream. The gods would be proud for another _Babaylan_ of this town.”

“Sorry, _her._ I forgot,” Emil followed up, scratching his head sheepishly, “And yes, they’d be pretty happy, I think.”

Lalli hummed, breathing in the crisp air of Old Tolong. He spied Emil moving his hand, and he watched as the boy brought his hand up, and curled his fingers, as if he could catch the stars. The gesture was somehow funny to Lalli, but also breath-taking in the same strange manner. A friendly gust of wind brushed by them, in their small patch of field. Emil shivered, dropping his hand. Lalli catches it, and deep down in his heart, he prays for warmth to envelope them.

Emil stops shivering, but doesn’t say a word if he knew it was Lalli or not. The spirits of Old Tolong often did such small niceties for the people, after all, so he didn’t question it. Emil turns his head, and he widens his eyes when he looks at Lalli, who had been looking at him. “Wow, your eyes! I was right!”

Widening his eyes, Lalli asked, “What? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong! Hold on! Don’t move, Lalli.” Excited, Emil rolled over and shuffled with his elbows, moving closer to Lalli and then sitting up. Emil’s warm hands brushed against his clothes, before holding the sides of Lalli’s face. Lalli was about to shuffle and squirm away, but Emil turned Lalli’s face up to the sky, and Lalli could only see the stars above, as Emil smiled with awe in his periphery. “ _Ang ganda_.” Emil whispered, making Lalli feel heat race up to his face, unbidden. “Your eyes _can_ reflect the stars in the sky!”

“Really?” It was a rhetoric, but Lalli didn’t care if Emil answered the question seriously. Emil called his eyes _beautiful_. His dark, muddy eyes, so unclear, was _beautiful_ _to_ _Emil_.

“Of course!” Emil nodded enthusiastically, before his eyes turned down sadly as his train of thought lead down to somewhere else. He said, in a somber tone, so soft and gentle, and so unlike Emil’s usual pomp and bolster, that Lalli thought he had done something wrong to upset the boy. Instead, Emil bared a part of himself. “I like the stars better than the sun. My papa often tells me I’m like the sun. That he can’t look at me for too long.”

Lalli doesn’t know what it’s like to have a father; is only familiar to what it’s like to be parented by someone who doesn’t nurture the love within you the same way real parents should. But Lalli tries to understand, anyway; acquiesces the idea that perhaps they’re like two comets, scouring the universe for a place to belong, and have eventually found each other. That maybe the world had found something within them, and joined them together in a quest to help understand each other. It certainly felt like everything moved for him, his life suddenly bleeding with bright colors only Emil could bring.

Or they could just be two souls who happened to have found each other, in a simple act of coincidence ( _which sparked a love so boundless and infinite, the stars spoke of their story in odd whispers throughout time_ ).

Lalli grasps Emil’s right hand that held his face, and he looked away, searching for where the sun would rise later that morning, and he pointed in that direction. Something whispered in his ear, and Lalli told Emil: “You know, the sun also happens to be a star, Emil.”

And if Emil’s childlike soul crumbled and fell apart, and reassembled and became whole on the fields of Old Tolong, nobody knew. Nobody knew but the stars, and Lalli. Nobody but just them.

( _We. Together. Us. Both. Them._ )

* * *

When he sees Emil, a few months later after they had become friends, Lalli hears soft whispers and murmurs at the back of his mind. They echo, grow louder into inaudible garble, until the voices meld together in a cacophony of thoughts. Lalli cannot hear them through the film of his mind, pushing it all away in favor of meeting Emil, intending to stay focused.

They were inside Lalli’s humble home, weaving baskets from the rattan stems they had dutifully scraped. Emil wasn’t usually _so_ clumsy, but it was on the eighth time that he had redone his basket that Lalli finally looked up from his, that was nearly finished. “What is wrong Emil?”

Emil had the gall to look flustered, shaking his head in denial. “N-n-nothing’s wrong! I—I just!”

 _I’m leaving_.

Lalli bolts right up, knocking the basket he had been weaving down onto the floor, the black dye they had laid out on the abaca mat spilling and painting the fibers with dark splotches. Lalli’s hands shake, feeling several things rip through his heart, though on the outside, his visage remained silent, the only thing different being his eyes. They were accusatory. Confused. Hurt.

 _Betrayed_ , Emil thought, as he peered into Lalli’s eyes. Emil stood up, feeling guilty, because he simply _knew_ that Lalli had read his thoughts, for the boy had a knack to do so, sometimes; accidentally hearing Emil’s thoughts before. But this was _wrong—different_. Emil wanted to explain to him, a weight in his pocket he wanted to gift Lalli, along with an explanation he had tried to work through in his mind all day.

But Lalli recoiled away from Emil, as the boy took a closer step to him. Emil felt a stab of pain go through his chest.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Lalli hissed, hands shaking and eyes clouded with a fury he could hardly contain. “Don’t come near me. You’re just going to _leave_.” His eyes were venomous, and Emil could not come any closer, lest he be stung by Lalli’s wrath.

And Lalli runs, so far away, as if he had been whisked by the spirits of Old Tolong, and had been brought into another land from him. Emil’s throat seizes in pain, having known of the story of Lalli’s mother, so what if the same thing had happened? What if— _no!_ Lalli would not allow himself to be whisked away by _encanto_ s, but Emil didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know where to begin. Lalli was a runner. He wouldn’t be caught if he didn’t want to be.

Emil felt like crying, but he found grandmother Ensi approaching him. Emil sniffled, and couldn’t meet her eyes, feeling shame dig deep into his heart, assuming everything was his fault. “I-I’m sorry, lola, I didn’t mean to hurt Lalli! I-I—”

Ensi silenced him by threading her fingers through his hair, and pulling him into a soft embrace. The normally cold woman silenced him, and Emil stopped his sniffling, and looked up into her face, softened by understanding. He listened, when Ensi spoke.

“Go after him, Emil, and go find him,” she instructed. “It is not good to leave him alone. He might hurt himself out there, but be careful yourself, _anak_. He could hurt you too.”

Emil nods, a duty in his heart, and a weight in his pocket. He would talk to Lalli. Clarify what he had come to tell him in the first place.

Later that day, the skies rumbled above the mountains of Old Tolong, the earth shook in Lalli’s anger, and the seas lapped against the shore angrily, tossing _bangkas_ to and fro. The spirits stirred with unrest, forests shaking in the anger of a mere mortal. The _Babaylans_ who had not predicted the event prayed for guidance, and were told to wait out the catastrophe, the gods watching over them.

Emil climbs upwards, with a promise, and a reconciliation.

And Lalli comes down with him, in the last light of the sun, right before darkness fell. Emil smiles, Lalli is mollified, and between their held hands was the weight in Emil’s pocket. _A small, weaved charm._ A promise between them.

( _We. Together. Us. Both. Them._ )

* * *

When Inay pauses to quench her parched throat, Sigrun sighs in disappointment. She sets her chin on her palm, takes a sip of the alcohol she had been offered. The story didn’t sound as “ _earth-shattering_ ” as Sigrun had hoped it would be. Far from it, actually. Just sounded like children who had silly crushes on each other, the other just happening to be too strong for his own good. Though, it didn’t exactly _sound_ like he had destroyed the universe either, so Sigrun supposed that Inay had just exaggerated the story to catch their attention.

“Hmm, Inay, no offense, but it doesn’t sound like Lalli destroyed the universe.” Sigrun told the young woman bluntly, and next to her, Mikkel agreed, not satisfied with the story.

Inay grins, as if she had gotten the reaction she had wanted. “Oh, he hasn’t destroyed the world yet. This is only the beginning of the story.”

Overhead, the stars were beginning to trickle through the darkness the setting sun had brought, and sighed along the story that Inay was retelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ang ganda"- So beautiful
> 
> \------------------  
> Back in Pre-Colonial Philippines, homosexuality was widely accepted, and women were held in a high regard. Men who were impotent would often marry other men, or come to identify as women. Babaylans were exclusively female, so men feminized themselves, and transitioned, when they wished to take the role. Men were still heads of house hold and the community, but lived alongside women with equal power and respect. 
> 
> "Bangbangin" in the story is actually the name of the character who Epifania falls in love with, in the original Sugilanon. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the story so far, and PLEASE, if you have any thoughts, or comments, feel free to leave them down below! I hope I'm doing my culture (before the colonization) some justice with my writing! HUHUHUHU, and I hope everybody has a lovely day! I'm sorry if there were any grammatical errors, or spelling mistakes!
> 
> -acina <333


	3. Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We come to find how the mountains rumble, and how the heavens rage. Through the rain, are two children, and a monster waiting for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, so I don't think I have any new words in this chapter, except, for "aswang" which will be mentioned later within the chapter. But, I'll explain anyway. An Aswang is a mythical creature, who preys after children and pregnant women. A bit more will be explained about it in the chapter, since I don't wanna give it away. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy this small chapter. The next one will have a bit of the bulk of things. Tbh, Im feeling a bit worn, but I'll power through. 
> 
> I apologize for any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes!!!! I really need to take a small break, get some inspiration back, and continue to write the rest of chapter 5 soon. But anyways
> 
> I hope ya'll enjoy, and feel free to leave a comment down below!!!!!!

Abandonment is like a silent burn, and a depth of hollowness that only the dark void of the universe could try to compare. It is a festering wound; a bittersweet ache that cannot be quelled physically, but hurts every cell and sinew of the body, till the lungs can no longer breathe the same, too pained to function normally. It is like losing a game that cannot be won; a plunging fall down a waterfall, except there was no end to gravity.

The world mocked him, as it kept passing time in the dullest of ways.

Lalli proceeds to watch the days turn again anyway, its strange rotation nearly seamless in nature, that Lalli breathes only feebly, continuing the cycle of living, trying to find a light in his days. He throws himself into work with his grandmother, trying not to think too much of Emil, or possible friends. He holds the charm in his hand; a weave of plant fibers and threads, patterned in a row of tiny, messy dots ( _courtesy of Emil_ ), that formed the unending rows of flowers; a symbol that belonged to Emil. If he turned the charm over, he could see words at the back, written in _Baybayin_.

_Promise_.

Try as Lalli might to push away the thoughts of Emil, but his little memories with him, besides the charm, is all that he has left.

At age eleven, Lalli experiences abandonment once again.

Except this time, it is different. Rather than _full_ abandonment, it is its other woeful cousin.

_Absence._

( _But Lalli waits, anyway. Knows absence will not last for long, just the universe knows it. Just as Lalli knows it. Emil will return, for he has promised.)_

* * *

Emil ran up the mountains, charm in hand, as the air grew thinner around him, the rocks grew bigger, and the trees, denser. He prayed for protection as he went up, after kindly asking for passage from the spirits of the forest, trying to search for Lalli in an almost hysterical desperation. He wanted to cry, but he stopped himself, needing to find Lalli as soon as possible, knowing things would only get worse from there. He didn’t want to lose his only friend. Did not want to leave, and come home to the bleak, colorless life of Old Tolong.

“ _We’re going to venture to the other seven kingdoms, Emil_ ,” his uncle had told him, painting stories of wonder, glory, and adventure. Emil liked the thought of it, but his heart longed to stay in Old Tolong, where months before he met Lalli, he wished he had left for good. But he had stayed, found Lalli, and he didn’t want to leave _now_.

Yet, his father had decided on his behalf, and Emil had no place for argument. Out there may be a life of glory, adventure, and mysteries beyond the island, far into the lands of the Middle East, and the West, and to the stretches of the North, into the supposed emptiness of the South. But here in Old Tolong was peace, maybe a bit of happiness, a hope—and _a reason to finally stay_.

Emil had been wishing for a reason to stay in Old Tolong, and he finally found one.

He did not come to Lalli that day, to lose his very reason.

So, Emil ventured into the stony mountains, flora obscuring his path and leaving patches of light that sprinkled his vision. “Lalli! Lalli, talk to me! I’m scared! I don’t want to leave you!” Emil tried to call out helplessly, but his voice never carried that far, and the mountains didn’t echo back a reply. Emil breathed shakily, pocketing his charm. “Lalli! I don’t want to leave you! So please! Don’t leave _me_!”

Emil jumped, as thunder boomed across the heavens. In his quest to find Lalli deeper into the forests, Emil failed to notice the angered sky, and the darkening clouds. Emil swallowed his fear down his throat. _Storm or not, he’ll find Lalli_. Emil powered through his search, even as the wind grew stronger, or the rain began to fall in fat blobs. Emil hoped that Lalli was safe and away from this storm—preferably somewhere that Emil could reach easily. Emil shivered as the temperature dropped even more, the rain beginning to slip through the threads of his clothes to drench his body.

Lips trembling violently, Emil called out once more. “L-Lalli! _Please_!” He swiveled his eyes around, trying to see signs of where Lalli had possibly gone. There was a beat of silence in the torrents of pouring rain, before he could feel the ground vibrating, making Emil sway back and forth on the slippery ground. Heart jumping into his throat, Emil feared if he had angered a _diwata_ or an _encanto_ ; perhaps, he had trespassed and had disrespected them in the process. The trees swayed violently, and the plants shivered more from the vibrations on the ground. Emil feared that there might be a landslide, but then, slowly, the earthquake stopped. Emil breathed a sigh of relief.

He looked around once again, wondering if there would be any more sign of danger, and then he straightened up after seeing none, brushing away the rain that had gotten into his eyes. Emil proceeded to venture further into the forest, even more desperate than before, thinking that Lalli would be in danger from that earthquake, not knowing Lalli was the actual cause of the phenomenon. But Emil continued headlong into danger, not knowing there would be other forces besides the weather and the earthquakes that could be a potential danger to Lalli and himself.

Emil ventured past a tree, before he jumped and shouted at the sight of a young woman, a few feet away. He hadn’t noticed her, from the darkness of the sky, and the looming shadows of the trees. Emil calmed his heart down, breathing in and out through his mouth. Wiping the rain away from his brows, Emil smiled sheepishly at the woman. “S-sorry, I didn’t notice you there! Have you seen a boy pass by here, looking a bit—er, _angry_? And he has light colored hair? Nearly like an old man’s!”

The woman chuckled, and Emil didn’t find it suspicious that a young woman, probably around her twenties, was up in the mysterious forests of the mountains, away from civilization. _Alone_. That was his mistake.

The woman smiled at Emil with closed eyes. He did not notice her fake appearance; her scraggly scraps of clothing hidden away with an illusion, and the way she hid her hands behind her back. He did not notice the way her feet stayed hidden underneath the cover of rocks and bushes. Emil could not hear the warning sound of a creature too fast, that could’ve warned him of the woman before him. The sound was hidden behind the guise of the pouring rain, and Emil’s own heartbeats.

“No, but do you want me to help you, child? I know the mountains very well. You could come with me! Children barely go through these parts of the woods,” the woman told him ( _not mentioning that those children would often go missing_ ), stepping out slowly from behind the foliage, the gate in her steps small. Emil smiled at her, and looked into her eyes.

“Thank yo—” and his reply was cut short, when he peered up at her, and noticed her eyes blown wide open, the pupils and irises nearly like pin pricks. Her sclerae were red from lack of sleep and irritation, the veins nearly popping with blood, eyes insistently looking at Emil. Her face was suddenly ghastly, and sallow, her sharp teeth poking out from the awkward jaggedness of her maw. Her hair was unkempt, enforced by the twigs and leaves in her hair.

Emil was frozen in place, and his pallor lost its color when he peered at her hands; long dark nails jutting out like pitch black blades, scratched up and nearly shaking with glee. The most indicating sign of what she was were how her feet were reversed, facing backwards, while her toenails were inverted. Emil could feel the tears building up in his eyes, his fear so great and menacing, he could feel his soul surrendering to his fate. He could feel his body growing cold in dread, like the rain that seeped into his very bones.

Faintly, beneath his shallow breaths, and the strong pattering of the rain, Emil could finally hear the sound of what should’ve warned him of the ghoul in front of him. A faint _tik-tik_ could be heard underneath the pouring rain, the telling companion of an _Aswang_. _A creature who preyed on children for their liver, and ate the unborn children of pregnant women._

“L-let me help you,” the woman offered, voice raspy and so terribly grating, it reminded Emil of when the wooden windows screeched against their hinges, and when coconut husks scratched against the floor. Emil _hated_ those sounds.

Through the pouring rain, he ran.

* * *

Lalli is unsure of what to feel.

He is the type to stew in his anger, and if pushed far enough, would let others feel his sizzling rage. But with Emil, it is something worse than anger, and the satisfaction of knowing their pain. Lalli knows that what he’s doing is wrong, letting Emil blindly stumble through the forest, through the torrents of rain and the rumbles of the earth. Yet, a bigger part of Lalli is unsatisfied, the satisfaction of Emil’s fear and futile attempts, being completely thwarted by the _urge_ to know what Emil had wanted to say.

Lalli was too impulsive in his anger, and had been unwilling to listen to what Emil had to say. Lalli feared that his parting words may have completely decimated their friendship, and might have ruined the connection they had built together throughout the months. But a part of Lalli justified his own anger. Emil was the one who _asked_ to be friends, and for him to suddenly leave? For him to have Lalli hurt this way?

_But then again, it was still Lalli who ran and left in the end_.

Lalli digressed, though, that all of this was trivial in the face of life and death. He would’ve stewed more in his thoughts, and probably would’ve let Emil suffer more in the rain and the forest, if only Lalli hadn’t heard such a terrible, blood curdling scream. His body froze underneath the lip of a cave he had taken refuge under, his heart dropping into his stomach as a cold, nervous sensation loomed over his neck, freezing his spine in fear.

There was a break through the clearing, where Lalli saw a familiar boy, running with his eyes closed, sunshine yellow hair drenched by the rain Lalli had caused. Right behind him was a hideous creature, long black tongue flicking to and fro in wide arcs, figure looking more terrible and long underneath the rain and lightning. Its bloody hands were reaching for Emil’s small figure.

_Blood?_

Lalli saw the blood, where there were gashes on Emil’s right arm.

It was as if the world lay suspended in motion, the coils of the universe unfurling from reality, settling into an almost frozen frame of time, where Lalli could see every sudden detail of the fear on Emil’s face, and the very sweep of his hair. Lalli could probably count the drops of rain, if he so ventured to do so, and could probably count the web of lightning that tore its way through the heavens above them. But he didn’t—for there was something that mattered more to him, that he needed to protect. _Damn the rain, and the lightning, for he only had one chance to save Emil. Damn the creature who would dare to hurt what was Lalli’s._

Lalli hardly felt his own body; could hardly feel the air inside his lungs, as his heart pounded against his ribcage, far greater than waves that crashed by a cliffside. He felt the earth crumble beneath his feet, hear the winds howl in his rage. Lightning seemed to last longer than a moment above them, and all he saw was white.

Lalli raised his hand, and the spirits listened.

He screamed along the roars of thunder.

A sapling that was located near the _aswang_ shot out, piercing through the leg of the foul creature, as it grew and doubled in size. The _aswang_ screamed its curses, as the rough trunk and branches of the tree sought refuge within the body of the foul creature, finding a habitat through the inside of the body, occupying every muscle, vein, and intestine. Lalli watched in grim satisfaction, as branches crawled inside of the stomach of the creature, inching and tearing its way through the threads of its flesh, till the body burst open, and branches shot out, the trunk tearing its way through the head, and leaving blood and viscera upon the spiritual ground. The rest of the body continued to convulse, as the tree tried its best to absorb the body, till it left no trace but the faint outline and rags of the creature. Lalli breathed, letting the tree cock itself up to the sky, as if it was an offering.

Idly, Lalli brushed away the blood that dripped down from his nose and ears, as he relaxed at the sight of Emil’s figure on the grass, staring at the display of the bloody tree. With his heartbeat calming down, Lalli suddenly had the urge to check Emil over for his injuries. He approached the boy with tall strides, as Emil looked up at him with large, blue eyes. But as he grew closer and closer to Emil, he found his worry only mounting, until Lalli suddenly found himself becoming angry on Emil’s behalf. _If it wasn’t for Lalli being so stupid—and it if it wasn’t for Emil being so lucky, Emil would’ve been dead. Would’ve been missing, and been eaten._

Emil stood up quick, unaware of Lalli’s souring mood, and went for an apology. “I’m so sorry, Lalli! You see, my uncle wanted me to go to the other kingdoms with him, and I wanted to tell you that I’ll be leaving for a few months, or years! But I didn’t tell you fast enough, and I wanted to say it, I really did—”

“I don’t care!” Lalli snapped at him, the terror of losing Emil changing his mind, and making his heart tremble and rattle like a beast in a cage. “You know the forest is dangerous! You know you can’t be here! You _shouldn’t_ have come at all!” Lalli’s glare was softened by the concerned frown of his brow, and by the clear thought that it might’ve also been Lalli’s fault that put Emil in danger. Lalli felt angry at himself for his stupid tendencies. He emphasized one more time: “You shouldn’t have come up here for _me_!”

Thunder roared overhead, but this time, Emil didn’t flinch. This time, Emil shouted back at Lalli in an equal magnitude of anger and desperation, eyes a blazing blue that couldn’t be quelled, even in the dark forest. Lalli was shocked to silence. “But _you_ were up here, Lalli! _You_ were up here because of _me_ , and you shouldn’t be alone up here at all—with that—with that _thing_!” Emil threw his arms around Lalli, crying onto his shoulder, having the terrifying events finally hit him head on. “I couldn’t just _leave you_ …I can’t, I don’t want to!” Lalli hugged Emil back under the rain, thin arms wrapping around him tighter as Emil sobbed. “I was _so scared_ , Lalli…I didn’t want to leave you…I don’t want to _.._.I _don’t._ ”

Unnoticed by the both of them, as Lalli held on to a sobbing Emil, the thunder and lightning faded from the sky, releasing its spindly webs, and the rain stopped in its heavy assault. The ground that they hadn’t noticed was vibrating, calmed itself down, as Lalli finally managed to breathe for the first time, his pain and anger disappearing. In a show of symbolism, the sun broke through the clouds, and Lalli felt its warm arms hold him. He welcomed it back, and basked in its safety, savoring what he could, apologizing profusely in his head for pushing it away. He was relieved at the thought that Emil didn’t want to leave, just as much as Lalli didn’t want him to. He shuddered, and melted into the embrace, refusing to pull away, sinking into a boneless heap of flesh that can only be held in one set of arms.

Softly, he let the words escape his mouth, with such a shy manner, it sounded like a plea to the gods. “I don’t want you to go, either.” Lalli whispered quietly into Emil’s hair, and in response, Emil hugged him tighter for the quiet admission.

The world often wonders how two, loveable souls, can hold a story that unfurls with a tragedy upon others. How destruction can stem from such an innocent love.

But the world surmises, _it’s just how humans are._

When they descend the mountains, Emil promises to return from his journey, and the charm is their surviving testament of a tale long passed by time and history. Few can only wonder where it is.

* * *

Sigrun leans back in her seat, amusing Inay with her remark in the small break of their story. “Emil sounds like he has guts going into that forest alone, huh? If he were real, I would’ve liked to train him myself!”

Mikkel only narrows his eyes skeptically, failing to see the logic in that sentence. “You could kill him, Sigrun.” He pointed out, this statement possibly ringing true.

Sigrun waves his concern off with a wave of her hand, violet eyes rolling. “ _Bah!_ No one in my company has died, yet, my trusty medic! I have you, so the boy might have a chance after all, even with your shitty stitches!”

“I worry for your future children, Captain.”

“ _Pfffft!_ ”

Inay regards them in amusement, before tossing her eyes to Aada’s wrist, where a familiar charm lay, unnoticeable, and out of sight. She nods along and continues her story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Emil leaves, and nobody knows for how long. 
> 
> Did you know that Pre-Colonial Philippines really loved their gold and jewelry?? HAHAHAHHAHAH, it was said that the land had an abundance of gold, and people loved to wear all manners of it; from legs clasps, to arm clasps; headdresses, and brooches, and large earrings, to gold rings on their fingers. There were even hilts of swords made entirely out of gold. The most coveted jewelry was the kamagi necklace. A circular chain, or a gold collar, made with such fine cuts, that it seems to be all in one piece, and can reach up to around, 15ft, from what I remember. People would wear the kamagi as necklaces (they wound it around their necks), or wore it as sashes and belts. They also wore it for its medical properties, which they would say, would protect them from airs that will cause spasms or infections. 
> 
> For Visayan natives, there was so much gold, that even the lower class had gold on them, each according to their strength and ability, though I do not know in depth how they classify that. One of the reasons why there was so much gold work, was because at that time, "there was no silver". 
> 
> Anyways, I'll stop talking about that. I hope all of you enjoyed this short one!!!! I've been going at writing chapter four and five, that I feel kinda drained, even though I'm excited to write the shit that will go down. PLEASE, feel free to drop your thoughts or comments down below! It absolutely makes my day!!!!
> 
> please stay healthy, and blessed. MUWAH  
> -acina<333


	4. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time changes people. It changes the heart of men, easily swayed by the tides.
> 
> But the wind brings news, and it is lovely (as lovely as it can be for two people only).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitions/Translations:  
> Bahag-is often known as G-Strings, but are actually clothes that can be meters in length, or longer  
> Buktot-is a four stringed, guitar-like instrument that sounds like a ukulele, often used for personal entertainment, or with other instruments  
> Tongali- a noseflute, often used in celebrations, despite how mournful it sounds, it is played during celebrations, special meals, festivals, the planting season, and in courtship.  
> Kubing-a jaw harp; an instrument that helps our ancestors communicate through song, especially courtship.  
> Timawa-a social class of people in Visayas that are known as Feudal Warriors to many, but also mean Free or Liberated Men/Women (from being slaves). They are the middle class of Philippine Pre-Colonial Society. .  
> Maharlika-a warrior class of people, who are perceived to be the around the Upper or Upper Middle Class people of Pre-Colonial Philippine Society.  
> Bahandi-Heirlooms
> 
> And so, we move closer to the destruction of the world. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!!!!!! I enjoyed writing it quite a lot, and it is simply one of my favorite chapters ever.
> 
> I apologize for any grammatical errors, or spelling mistakes!!! I have no beta at all, so I tried my best. But anyways, I hope you enjoy!!! If you have any thoughts or comments, please leave some down below!! It absolutely makes my day better.

Days move into weeks, and from weeks, into months; from there, seven years pass by in a multitude of moments Lalli cannot remember. Old Tolong grows and changes, along with its people and the children. There were more fields and houses now; more kindred spirits, and blessings. More groves of trees, more lively people, and more stories that intermingle and share. Lalli grows alongside the town, and learns how to treat the spirits with respect, rather than with reckless abandon, like he had done up in the mountains. So, he mends his mistake—asks the spirits for help, and offers them sacrifice from time to time, so that in turn, they won’t hurt him and make him bleed when he seeks their help. He is granted their favor and blessing, helping him through the hardest of days.

Lalli is known throughout the town and different lands; becomes an acclaimed weaver, who tells the most elaborate stories through his craft. Most of his stories are of tragedies and woes, and only few and far in between are of happiness. Of two children, one born from the moon, the other, the sun. Most are about the ghouls of the mountains, and of friends who are torn apart.

Some would ask where the stories came from, and Lalli would never say, opting to continue refining his craft, helping his grandmother, and listening to the spirits and the stars, who took Emil’s place as Lalli’s companion for the most lonesome of days. He holds on to the charm on his person at all times, praying to it, hoping that the spirits would protect his friend. Over the years, even with the absence of Emil, his heart grows fond of him even more, much to his own dismay. It seeks Emil out, being the only other person, he has come to love and cherish, besides his grandmother. There was nobody else he could call a friend in this world, and Lalli would not have it any other way. _His heart holds on to the smallest of things he could love_.

And over the years, he hears stories.

Of a man, who traveled across the seven kingdoms, and has regaled stories of grandeur. A hero who recounts stories, where none can glean whether they were true, but sings his words into the heart of people, that it can never be erased, just as much as the stars twinkle. His stories are often of great tragedy too—of a man swallowed by a giant fish, or of a sea maiden kidnapped from her home, that unleashes the wrath of the gods, and creates a great flood. Lalli heard once, of a small story, people would say, that the man rarely told yet kept close to his heart. _Of two friends separated._ Lalli heard that the man would sing that story with a forlorn heart, waiting for his significant other, who saved him in a storm, and from the ghouls of a mountain. He heard that the man would sing to the stars, hoping his significant other looked up at them, and remembered him from the same folds of the sky.

Lalli often wonders if his own stories reach Emil, the same way his reaches Lalli. The coincidences are far too great for Lalli to mistake this person as anybody else other than Emil, but still, he prays that it really is him. That the stories this hero retells are of Lalli, and for Lalli only ( _which only makes his heart grow fonder_ ). He often thinks, as he gazes out his window, up into the starry sky past the banana leaves, if him and Emil _are_ indeed two comets, coming from a universe of their own, stories converging the same way the whispered rivers of Laon converged, and created new worlds.

Lalli would whisper to the stars, of his memories and his love, and the grand scheme of his life and his longings. The stars would sigh with him, listening intently, though they’ve heard him countless of times. Lalli wonders if Emil can hear his words through the sigh of the universe. Wonders if Emil thinks of him under the same sun. The spirits only knew how to comfort, so he waited for the answer to come.

It is a silent day, when Emil returns, near the edge of twilight.

Lalli was busy laying aside his unfinished works, the bare bones of an abaca basket being put aside, as his grandmother sat by her time in the window, witnessing the stars outside with the light of her candle. He wasn’t thinking much of that day, besides helping his grandmother with housework, and making _baye-baye_ alongside her. Then he felt something, akin to a tingle. A small wind swept across Old Tolong, stopping short just by a nipa hut in the heart of the city. It washed over Lalli briefly, before he faintly heard the soft voices of the wind. Lalli dropped his basket in disbelief, and grandmother Ensi looked to Lalli, finding the behavior strange. _Lalli never dropped things in their home—not since Emil left._

When Ensi looks to Lalli, and she sees him, eyes dark yet glowing, just like all those years ago, dancing reflectively like a knife’s edge. She is the first to know, besides Lalli, who has entered town once again, and she shoos Lalli away, already knowing he doesn’t intend to stay long.

She only watches him as he runs, and never looks back.

She muses bitterly, from time to time, how her daughter had been taken away by the spirits, in their fickle, twisted image of love. When she looks at Lalli, somehow, his love is different. Where Tuuliki was taken without her own accord, Lalli was taken by _his own_ love, under _his own_ accord. She thinks the boy is mad; when he speaks to the stars endlessly, she believes that he can tear the world apart for Emil. That he could sift the stars from the sky into his palm, and count each and every one of them, as he stole them from the firmament. She watches him, and thinks he can swallow the sun, if Emil asked him to do so.

Ensi would love to think this depravity is an influence from the magic that touched Lalli—and perhaps, it was.

_But he never looked back._

This was Lalli’s choice, and Ensi only hoped that Emil loved Lalli just as much.

* * *

Emil is different, when Lalli sees him. He can still see the little boy that Lalli knew on Emil’s face, but he was _different_. The same way tree saplings grew big, and strong, to withstand a storm; the same way Lalli wove baskets, with cords and patterns that layered themselves into proper form, strong enough to hold any weight. Lalli wonders what had Emil gone through all those years, to have him look more like a man, than the boy he once knew. He wonders if his skin is peppered with stories and scars of a lifetime, and wonders if Emil would dare allow him to map out each one, as Emil sang to him the stories which he sang to so many others.

Lalli looks at Emil, dressed in fabrics and fibers, patterned in many different kinds. Sees the fine silk scarves draped around his torso, not hiding Emil’s arms corded in muscle, that weren’t too sharp nor full with edges, but soft in a way Lalli knew him to be. He sees a travelling basket, perhaps of foreign origins, hidden by his side. But most importantly, Lalli sees _him_. He sees Emil, looking back at him, _waiting_. Lalli cannot tear his eyes away from Emil. like the moon cannot let go of the tides. He cannot tear his eyes away from Emil, who in the last light of twilight, where the stars began to witness their unity, looked back at Lalli as if he was the only thing he lived for.

Lalli forgets how to breathe.

Emil looks at Lalli, and sees what the years had done to the boy, and _by the gods_ , were they so kind to him. With sharp edges that Emil could not wish to imagine; a lanky, slender frame that is held together by subtle muscle, that Emil couldn't help but wonder, where they could end and begin. The stories that have been spun about him could not do him enough justice, even if they were to be threaded with silk and all manners of moonshine.

Emil has heard stories of a talented weaver, who was said to whisper to the stars, and translate stories into his craft. Of a beautiful man, who hid within his hut, allowing the moon to shine upon his window, as he stared across the horizon and settled the stars into place.

Of a man with silvery hair, who told tragedies like his own, who waited patiently as if he had someone to wait for. Emil had been worried over his own return; afraid that Lalli might’ve forgotten him. Afraid that the stories he sang and the adventures he had weathered through had not survived, and had not made its way across the seas, the land, and the air, to seek Lalli here. When he heard the stories Lalli had made, and even saw for himself what he has woven, when they’ve traveled across foreign lands, Emil’s heart began to grow fond, at the familiarity of the craft. Over the years, it became greater.

So, Emil looks at the man, several feet away, and somehow, he breathes a sigh of relief, and almost laughs at how teary eyed he becomes. He sees the charm he had given to Lalli all those years ago, held delicately in his hand, and sees the way Lalli searches his face for an answer. His are eyes so relentless; sharp and wide, it takes back Emil to years before, when they first met.

He sees Lalli breathe out, and he spied the tiniest of relaxation on his shoulders, as if he had been a bow and arrow, nocked and aquiver. Emil knows he has found an answer, and is relieved to know that, _indeed_ , his stories had reached Lalli in his haven, here. Is absolutely brimming with joy, with the way Lalli gazed at him as if he had been the reason, he had waited all these years for. As if all his life could be summed up to this one moment. _Emil would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same way._

“You came back,” Lalli says in the air of silence between them, unknowing of the few witnesses on the street, and the stars who gazed on happily above them. Emil hears his voice, and it is soft, and silky, and reminded him of flowing rivers. Emil nodded, not knowing what to say, before he brushed his eyes with his calloused hands, not wanting his tears to fall.

“I had a promise to keep, you know,” he says, voice strong, but his heart bursting with an urge to hold Lalli. “And I never wanted to leave in the first place.” They had drawn closer to each other, an arm’s length away, and they see each other even more, with stark clarity. The stars are jealous of their proximity, simply because they wished they were near them as well, to see the tenderness in how they look upon each other. The air quivered between them, but it lay unnoticed.

It is Emil who touches Lalli first; brushes his hair aside, slightly messy from the hasty run he had, hurrying to meet Emil from the heart of the town. _If allowed, Lalli would run to edges of the universe for him._ He fixes the silvery strands, as the moon peeks through on their reunion. Emil tucks his hair aside, and see Lalli’s dark eyes in more clarity, shining in a way dark steel does. Lalli catches his breath in the delicate manner in which Emil handled him.

He plays with he edges of Emil’s hair, that ended just by his chin, and brushed some of the hair away from his cheeks, finger tips skimming across his face. But then, he throws his arms around Emil, and Emil, taken by the sudden action, hugs Lalli back, relishing in the contact, for the _years_ of absence, that suddenly felt eons behind them. They savor the moment, in the shared skin-ship that soothes their aching hearts, and tethers them down to the rotating earth, feeling more alive than they’ve ever been.

When they part from each other, to return to their families, it is with a promise of more time between them, and more stories to share. The promise is sealed with a brush of their fingers, and perhaps, smiles that last too long, even for the comfort of the night.

Now, for the first time in years, they are not alone. ( _One would know better, than to come in between them._ )

After their short meeting, where the dark descended, but the skies were still running away and visible through the moonlight, the few people who had witnessed the reunion, and had stuck out by the streets and outside of their homes, marked that night down in history. Through the clouds, and the depth of the night, foreign northern lights snaked its way through the clouds and sea of darkness. The lights glowed in reds and greens, and moved in the likeness of silk, left to dry off in the wind. The lights were a veil of light, pinned to the sky, swaying and hiding the stars like a curtain, wading as snakes do in the ocean.

The aurora borealis was brief, and it descended down into the town, and into the trees, right behind Emil’s home. Stardust twinkled in its tail like fireflies, and flaked off like ash, mimicking the fading embers of fire. People marveled at the sight, and wonder if the spirits were happy. Some looked on the beautiful lights as a terrible omen; a symbol of disaster that would set the stage of their near demise.

_Sometimes, it payed to be a pessimist._

* * *

The town celebrates Emil’s return with festivities. They take pride in the hero of their very own, small town, and celebrate his return with a feast; from all the manners of meat and poultry, to the riches of the sea, and the gifts of their harvest. They gather in the heart of their town, and though they’ve grown quite a bit in population, the town was still quite small. Yet to Emil, it was still a lot for him to take in. They lined mats across the ground, and settled the feast down on fresh banana leaves, with a large bon fire nearby, roasting a whole pig. Rather than being half-naked, like most of the days that passed by in Old Tolong, the people of the town dressed in their special patterned blouses, and wore their _bahags_ , adorned with beads and several ornaments. Jewelries made of gold and bronze, and every manner of pearl adorned each man and woman, glittering underneath the light of the fires.

The celebrations lasted from morning, till night, as people became drunk with their merriment and their dancing; singing songs of old that they passed down from their ancestors, regaling the creation of their world, and their town. They gave Emil gifts for his safe return, and in gratitude, he sang his tales for them, allowing them to witness for themselves the adventurer, who sang beautifully of different tragedies.

In the setting sun, you could hear the plucking of strings from someone playing the _buktot_ ; an instrument, made from a coconut husk, and lined with four strings along the fret board. Can hear the mournful, somber tone of the _tongali_ , that awfully resembled a human voice, played in special gatherings, and celebrations. These accompaniments enhanced Emil’s storytelling, painting scenes of which no one could ever imagine. The few _Babaylans_ of their town watched over the merriment with much joy, and the elders laughed along the idiosyncrasies of the youth.

Emil watched as the men of the village danced the night away, jumping and moving in a dance only warriors knew, as the woman occasionally joined in, mimicking the movements of birds, mostly flirting the night away with the men. The Babaylans rose, and danced to appease the spirits and the gods; thanked them for returning one of their own and for the healthy harvest they have been gifted with. Emil watched them through the light of the fire, amazed with the growth of their town.

But Emil only had a particular eye for one person that night, who for the first time in the evening, had finally stood up.

Nobody noticed, drunk from their happiness and enjoyment, when Lalli approached Emil. His eyes were dark, and the light of the fire bathed Lalli in all the manners of shadows that Emil wished to brush away. Lalli moved in a fluid manner, that reminded Emil of a dancer; one who swayed with grace, and had music in their bones, physically manifested in the beat of their movements. Emil wonders what Lalli is about to do.

And Lalli, ironically, bows to Emil, in an inviting gesture, a hand held out. _A dance with him_. Emil brushes aside his long _bahag_ , and rises, hoping that the cloth, ornamented with beads and manners of silk won’t disgrace him, and make him fall. His bare feet brush the ground, the newly gifted ankle bells he had been gifted with by another fellow warrior, brandishing him as a comrade in arms, jingling starkly through the night. Emil doesn’t move, following Lalli’s lead, who drags him near the fire, Emil’s ankle bells jingling along the way.

A song begins, not so fast, but steady. It had been a long time since Emil heard the ceremonial song, that he doesn’t recognize it at first. Lalli bows, spine arching gracefully, as he tosses Emil a heated look, before taking steps along with the beat. Four beats away, Lalli uses the balls of his feet to push him backwards, as he slowly turns his head from Emil, the length of his _bahag_ swaying, the beads jingling off-beat. The brass hoops on Lalli’s wrists jingle as well, and the faint outline of his earrings peek through, shining in the firelight. Emil follows through the movement, letting the sounds of the percussion ring through his body, as he looks up at Lalli and tosses him a small smile, his movements not as graceful, but familiar in its jauntiness, as he takes his own steps back. Then, they approach each other in one stride, hands meeting briefly, before they push away from each other, the contact leaving them wanting some more.

They dance in response to each other, movements of their own free will; a meld of dance that will be forgotten in time. But this dance— _it is their own_. Free and warm, tugging them together, not following an order, but creating their own on the way. When Lalli goes right, Emil moves to his own, complimenting each move he does, until Emil simply lets himself be, and melds with Lalli’s movements, like blood fusing itself in the pureness of water. Their hands sweep through the air, as they turn, allowing themselves the joy of movement, as they faced each other, tossed looks over their shoulders; looked upwards at the sky, before bowing to the ground, hands pointing along. Their jewelry creates sound, and their bodies make such beautiful forms and movement, the two find it hard not to look at each other sometimes. 

Then Emil hears the familiar twang in the beat of the music; the hearty, sharp sound of a _kubing_ , ringing silently through the air. Emil isn’t sure if Lalli sees, but Emil can feel heat creep up through his neck, a blush making its way to his cheeks, unbidden, as he remembers what the _kubing_ was most often used for. Others probably misunderstand. _Did they think Lalli was courting him?_

Emil is unsure, but he doesn’t let the realization ruin his moment, as he dances beneath the stars with Lalli, smiling as his ankle bells unite in tandem with the jingle of Lalli’s bracelets, ringing through his reverie, in a moment of clarity. It is not uncommon knowledge that men would court each other, and join in unity in their town There was nothing wrong to Emil, if Lalli were to court him, but Emil had a plan— _a ridiculous plan, maybe_ —but a plan he had put thought into. He knows that Lalli is a _timawa_ , and though he _doesn’t_ know if Lalli has become rich and rose in nobility over the years, Emil would still not risk it.

Knowing his own family was predominantly _Maharlika_ , they would raise standards for which Lalli could not fulfill, especially with the riches which Emil brought back from his adventures. Even though he was a a free man, Lalli didn’t happen to have lands. Didn’t have pigs, cows, gold, or _bahandis_ to give or offer as dowry. Lalli would be risking his simple life for Emil, if there would be another chief or warrior class family who would happen to ask for Emil’s hand. _Especially if Emil’s father had a say in things._ Emil knew Lalli had little material things to give in his family, so all those years of travel Emil had done—he made sure those travels never went to waste.

From the little diamonds he could glean, to the sharpest blades he could find. Emil tried to find things through which he could convey his affection, and ask first for Lalli in courtship. _Damn him, if he didn’t want his family to witness his offerings for Lalli’s hand._ Lalli had been his only friend—one which Emil had kept secret. Maybe, over the years, he fell in love. Maybe, over the years, the stories that Lalli had woven and had reached him made his heart beat a little faster. Maybe Emil was ready to take a risk and dive deep down.

_But what if Lalli didn’t feel the same way?_

Emil looked up at Lalli hopefully, who slowed down in his movement, as the song came to an end. When Emil looked into Lalli’s face, and saw how the firelight revealed a small, little smile, and expectant eyes, he knew he was ready to damn it all for Lalli. In a world such as theirs, where creatures prowled the night, and warriors risked their lives for war; where tribes raged disputes, and ended lives with pillaging, one would understand how people married with haste in these times. People would understand how these two friends fell in love easily, in a world where there was hardly anything to love. One would understand why Emil would risk it all.

And in the same manner, one would understand why Lalli pushes the world into its near demise. _Or perhaps not_ , but between the both of them—they were all the reason needed to damn their world to hell. Everything else hardly mattered, in the grand scheme of things.

There was hardly time to live anymore.

So, Emil pulled Lalli off, into a secluded part of the festivities, where not many eyes sought them out. They lied down on a mat, and simply looked up at the stars, as the festivities continued way into the morning. Emil tells Lalli of the difficulty of his travels. Finally, like his usual self, he complains about many aspects of his journeys, but amends them with the joy of helping people, and seeing riches. He admits, that the stories Lalli had woven, had reached him and became his reprieve through rough nights. Lalli turns his face away from Emil, and answers with a small, “ _Mfff_.” Emil grins, delighting in Lalli’s bashfulness.

“The stories you sang, and the ones you told,” Lalli begins, eyes tracing across the firmament above them, allowing the stars to reflect back in the depth of his eyes, when their conversation grew silent. With a raised hand, as if catching a star, Lalli asks, “Who were they for?”

Emil looks from Lalli’s hand, and searches his face for his own answer. Emil cannot lie or withhold anything from Lalli, knowing how well that went years ago. So, Emil folds his arms across his stomach, and smiles at Lalli. “They were for you,” he answers simply. Lalli’s eyes snap to Emil’s, and Emil’s very answer stares back, trying to confirm the validity of his words, spoken with such an unwavering certainty, Lalli cannot help but falter in the face of the truth. Emil continues, “I hoped that you would hear my stories, so you knew that I was fine. That I was doing well, so that you’d know I’d be coming back one day.”

Emil faintly notices that Lalli’s hand had fallen in between them, in the middle of the mat. Emil wonders if Lalli would allow him to hold his hand, and allow them to just stay that way. But before he gets a chance, Lalli sits up, pointedly staring at Emil to follow his suit.

When he sits up, Lalli tells him, “They were for you, as well.” Emil is confused, but Lalli doesn’t let him dwell in his confusion, making Emil watch as Lalli’s long, spindly fingers ( _that Emil suddenly notices is inked with tattoos_ ) traced the mat beneath them. Emil looks at the mat for the first time, and doesn’t know whether the dots on the mat are stars or flowers, for they fairly resembled both, encircling the form of a mountain. Emil faintly sees the outline of two small figures, in the very middle of the mountain, holding hands. Emil feels stupid for not noticing Lalli’s craft.

Lalli tells him, voice faint, but holding a strength that told Emil that Lalli prided himself in his work. “I hoped my stories reached you, too. Weaved them together, and hoped you might see it. Leaves wither away too fast, when you write words on them. I’m not good with words.”

Emil listens intently to Lalli’s words like a prayer, and brushes the weave beneath them kindly, as if in fear that the weave would break under his touch. Lalli eyes Emil’s hand with intense fixation, his lungs suddenly empty, with the reverence of which Emil touched his work. Lalli felt as if Emil touched him intimately, even without physical contact. He sees the movement as something akin to what lovers do. Lali faintly prays to the stars for an answer of whether or not Emil would see him the same way, one day, _as lovers do_.

They don’t answer, but Lalli didn’t expect one anyway.

“Are these stars, or flowers?” Emil asked Lalli, hoping that the question didn’t offend the weaver. Instead, Lalli hummed, brushing his hand across the mat.

“Both,” he says simply, “whichever way you see it. The stars are watchful companions, and the flowers a chain of promises.” Emil watches as Lalli digs out the old charm Emil had gifted him, and his breath is taken away, because _yes_ , Emil’s terrible attempt at a charm had made the flowers look like stars. Yet, Lalli renewed the meaning of them; held them closer to his heart than Emil thought. He weaved them into a story that both knew personally, but meant much more than just kind gestures, and a foolish promise made to the heavens ( _and to the bottoms of their heart_ ).

Lalli’s hand encircles one side of the ring of flowers and stars, and Emil asks him, “Why are they in a circle?”

Emil settles his hand on the other side of the ring, and notices how their hands are inches away. He thinks of how well their hands would fit together, if he could just nestle his palm against Lalli’s. Thinks that, maybe, Lalli wouldn’t mind.

Lalli stares at his own hand, as he traces the circle. “The promise is linked together, from end to beginning.” And he looks up to Emil, eyes piercing and conveying something Emil swears is familiar to him, yet so foreign at the same time. He listens anyway. “A promise that meets itself to the end. A promise to _return_.” Lalli doesn’t know when their fingers meet, but his hand registers the warmth of Emil’s hand; a warmth that feels like the embrace of the sun. Like the darkness enveloping the sky, he hugs it back, and engulfs it. _Keeps the warmth to himself._ He savored it for what it was worth, and swore to never let it go. Then, they simply talk some more about their own stories. Well, Emil was the one who had more stories between them.

When Emil asks Lalli tentatively, if Lalli wanted him to sing stories for him, Lalli says yes. He had been hoping all night that Emil would sing, just for him and him only.

And if Emil traces the tattoos around Lalli’s one hand, and Lalli traces a few scars on Emil’s own, it is a private intimacy that only both know. Emil would love to show more of his scars to Lalli, as well as the ink drawn onto the flesh of his chest and his back, but he rests the idea for another time, knowing that the dawn draws near, and the festivities would soon come to a close.

With that final thought, he unties a section of cloth from his waist, disconnected from his _bahag_ , and offers it to Lalli. Emil shows him the delicate fibers, and the pure vibrancy of the red hue; shows him the intricate patters of the cloth, burnished in such a manner, that it shined under the firelight. Emil tosses the cloth over Lalli, and flares it across his thin shoulders. Lalli burrows into the cloth, the warmth of Emil still engulfing it, and by extension, him.

Emil says the next damning words of the universe, that help Lalli’s stomach break out into flutters.

“I did not only leave to give you _nothing_.”

And if anybody notices the column of fabric missing from Emil’s waist, nobody notices.

Nobody but one ( _and it is not Lalli, nor the stars_ ).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Datu" or the "Maginoos" are at the very top of the social classes; the nobility. Maharlika are sometimes perceived as free men, but in Visayas, they are more well-known as the Warrior Class, that is on the same level of the Datus, or just a bit lower. Women in Pre-Colonial Period had the right to establish trade and industry, and succeed in chieftainship in the absence of a male heir. They had the exclusive right to name their children, and men often walked behind them as a show of respect. 
> 
> There is a common process of courtship that everybody shared. The man, if he wished to court a woman, begins the process of courtship through "Paninilbihan" or Servitude. He would help in chores or housework, and help the family of the woman he wishes to court. Once he gains the parents approval, he has to go through several more conditions. 
> 
> He has to give dowry, pay the panghihimuyat (midwife who assisted in the birth of the woman he is courting), pay the wet nurse, pay the parents himaraw, and bribe the relatives. After all is done, he brings his parents to meet his wife to be's parents to haggle and make the final arrangements. This courtship process would often be as long as from a few months, up to a year, and is quite arduous, long, and expensive.
> 
> Wedding ceremonies varies according to each class. Mixed Marriages were allowed in society, but sadly, there isn't any information or record that I can find about the process of a man courting another man, especially if they were different classes (but I assume they all had the same process). The status of mixed marriage children are dependent on their parents', and is divided evenly (though, back in the day, women thought it was unsightly to have too many children, as they saw it as a comparison to cattle and pigs). 
> 
> Sadly, if you were a slave in these times, a marriage arrangement can be made in place for you by your owner, and you would not have the same right to participate in any grand wedding ceremonies or any courtship gestures. If you were a slave owned by a warrior, and your owner died, you would have to be buried with your owner until your own death, as you would be a sacrifice for the evil spirits, in exchange for your owner. Some would even have the unfortunate fate to be tortured to death. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter today!!!!! My knowledge on Pre-Colonial Philippines is not that vast, so I try my best to do research everyday! Our culture before colonization is not as well known, so I took my liberties here with Emil and Lalli. I hope you all forgive me! And please, leave your thoughts or comments down below! I'd appreciate it so much!!!!
> 
> MUWAH  
> -acina <333


	5. Declaration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One person notices, and should've known better than to intervene.
> 
> And their words set off what would be Lalli's mission to destroy the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manang-Elder Sister (but more like aunt, if you know what i mean)
> 
> Hello!!! I come with the update which is Chapter 5!!!! After I post this, I'm taking a two day break to recuperate, and then I'll be back on the grind to finish the story!!!
> 
> I hope all of you come to like this chapter!!! I had a bit of difficulty at the end, but it only became easier around the end finally! If you have any thoughts or comments, please leave them down below!!!! They absolutely make my day!!!! I absolutely apologize for any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes!!! I have no beta, so I edited all of this myself!!! ENJOY
> 
> MUWAH

A mother worries for her child all the time. They hear terrible stories of _aswang_ and all manners of monsters preying after children; know that some would go missing, and would often dissuade their children from staying out too long in the night. Most mothers think of their children, like they are the stars in the sky, and would sacrifice their every nerve and cell to protect the life that had been gifted to them.

So, with the return of Emil, his mother of course, bursts with coordinated joy. She was happy to know that her son had come back safe and alive—had become more of a man than she thought he could be. She celebrates with the people, pride in her heart, for her son that wove stories through the land, traversed through many strange places, had became a warrior in his own right, and had brought back riches to their family. She thanks the spirits, and the gods, for returning her baby. Can’t thank them enough.

But a mother hears stories.

She knows the acclaimed weaver of their town; a young man, who weaves stories into manners of abaca and rattan that loop and weave to his will; who glows in moonshine and whispers to the stars. _The magic touched are regarded with awe._

And _fear_.

His stories travel far and wide, reaching across lands, with the trade of his craft. He tells of tragedies, and coerces life into the very things he weaves. The boy hardly accepts riches, for he weaves grand pieces, only for the sake of the town. Sees money as an insult to his work, probably. He doesn’t accept silver or gold, but offers the weaves to those he finds, would truly appreciate and acknowledge his gift for what it was worth. She often thinks it’s a waste for him _not_ to grow his wealth.

His stories are of tragedies; friends separated, ghouls hunting after children, the world falling to ruin. There are the few happy ones, like the two children, one born from the moon, and the other, the sun. That one was probably made up, but Emil’s mother grew an alarming worry over one particular story.

_Of a woman who disappeared into a mango tree_.

Everyone is unsure of the circumstances of which Tuuliki disappeared. A few people swore they saw the mango tree over Lalli’s house swoop in and take his mother. They all thought that an _encanto_ had taken a liking to her, and swooped her away from the family. People don’t blame the spirits, as they often sighted the Hotakainen family with regards of awe, for the family had a willowy beauty to them, nearly otherworldly. _If the encanto claimed one of their own, who were they to stop them?_

Yet, over the years, they saw Ensi look over the tree with silent contempt. They saw the way she stayed away from tree, and saw how the woman often looked at the tree in longing, as if it could return to her what she did not have. People knew that Ensi only had one daughter, and suddenly, they saw it more clearly now. That though the _encanto_ had blessed Tuuliki with its favor, the mother mourned for the only child she had been given. _Like it was a curse, that rot them from the bone._ They began to wonder who would be taken away next: _Ensi, or Lalli?_ Would it be cruel to leave a child behind, or to leave a grandmother, who lost everything? Nobody knew if their family was blessed or cursed, and they thought it would be better if they just stayed away.

Over the years, their curiosity waned, and life picked up in speed, as people got married, and the children turned into young men and women, in Old Tolong. Emil’s mother waited on for her son, unknowing that there was another soul, eager and waiting for his return as well.

And once again, she remembers the story in the back of her mind, when she looks across the sea of bodies, her son untying the cloth by his waist, flaring it over the shoulders of the acclaimed weaver. She sees the profound gesture, and cannot help but widen her eyes in shock. She did not know her son had a friend, let alone, _had one to court_. Emil could say it was a friendly gesture, that it was a gift he wanted to give to his friend.

But a mother knew what love and affection looked like, deep down, and she felt incensed. Why had Emil not told her? How could she have not noticed? Maybe she could understand _why_ he had not told her, but she feels hurt that he would not trust her with the knowledge of his friend. Did these children even _know_ what love was? She paused in her thoughts, and acquiesced, that she didn’t know what their love was. Might never come to understand it as they would, for she did not know their history.

But she worries.

What if Emil would be spirited away too? She had a feeling that Lalli wasn’t _just_ a simple weaver. The strange circumstances of Lalli’s family made her thoughts run into terrible conclusions.

A mother cannot help but worry.

( _She fears her son may be taken away._ )

* * *

The next few days trickle through like a blur. The days and nights sweep by, with clouds undulating in the sky in big waves, and the seas lapping calmly by the shore, greeting them softly in their wake. The days are slow, and nearly uneventful, but it somehow leaves Lalli waiting eagerly for the next, as him and Emil pass their days by doing menial housework, collecting rattan stems, and hunting by the rivers. They enjoy each other’s presence, and share some more of their stories and their interests, as they took their sweet, due time to finally catch back up on the years that had gone missing.

With Emil’s absence, he had grown a bit unfamiliar to the life of Old Tolong, but Lalli leads him along, and shows him back the ropes he had let go. Emil would stumble on the way, sometimes, and would trust Lalli to help him remember what was familiar. Lalli only grew fonder, as Emil trusted him so. Allowed each other to be lead by the hand, deeper into the cavern of their own hearts. Their smiles came easier, as the days progressed. Freely held each other by the hand, when they wanted to do so. They brushed each other's hair when it got in the way, and indulged in sweet brushes across the cheek when allowed or presented with the chance. One could look upon them and say it was love, even with a mere glance. 

The two ventured, and also had their fun. They avoided the parts of the river where their women bathed, and they searched for a waterfall they could climb up to. They pardoned themselves and sought passage from the spirits of the forests, before they climbed up the waterfall, and ate bananas they had climbed up the trees to get. They ate by the ledge, but unlike Emil, Lalli was a bit more cautious than him, opting to instead sit further away from the danger it posed.

Lalli hates it when Emil pretends to lean forward. The idiot knew better than to tempt death, but Lalli figures, he had been emboldened in his adventures.

“Lalli, you should really come and look,” Emil tries to persuade him, legs swinging over the edge, the waterfall nearly drowning out his voice. Lalli only narrows his eyes—a telling gesture of _no_. He’s not really scared, but just entirely too cautious to try and err on the side of danger. “Come on, Lalli, the sight is beautiful!”

Lalli doesn’t need a beautiful sight. He already has enough of a view in front of him. The tattoos that race down on Emil’s back is already quite a beautiful sight to behold, and Lalli would rather not move from his spot.

Emil pretends to tip forward, and Lalli is scared for a second that he could truly fall (even if Emil could survive that dive).

“ _Mrrrrrrrhhh_.” Lalli glowers at him, and Emil laughs.

In a petty revenge, Lalli stretches out a leg, and with a nudge, pushes Emil lightly on his back. It causes Emil to slightly tip forward, and he shouts, holding onto the ledge for dear life, as he stared at the bottom. Otherwise, he doesn’t fall, and he shouts his curses, as Lalli smirks in satisfaction.

Emil stays away from the edge, afraid that it would be Lalli who would push him to his death.

( _But he was pretty sure that he would survive, and Lalli would dive down to meet him there._ )

* * *

When the days end in the wink of sunset, and the moon shyly peeks over the horizon, Lalli always waits for Emil’s departure, not because he wants him to leave, but because every time he does, there is always something new that he gives. Always something that punctuates his leave, and slowly assures Lalli, that _yes_ , there is something more to what Emil feels. It makes Lalli’s heart burst with confidence and surety. Makes his resolve harden itself into the likeness of steel.

_First, it was the fabric, from another region_. It was made of abaca fibers ( _gauze thin and fragile_ ), chosen and maintained by expert hands, tie-dyed and patterned as intricate as fine embroidery (that Lalli wishes he could achieve over decades of practice), burnished to a silk-like shine that Lalli swore moved like the tides. It was dyed red in the mark of a warrior. Lalli doesn’t know if it is unprecedented or even _allowed_ to gift a friend with the fabrics of warriors, but Lalli muses, _maybe he is more than just a friend._

Despite the gesture signifying something deeper, Lalli never thought these were gestures of courtship, not until he starkly notices the second gift. One that sends Lalli questioning whether the spirits were playing with him, or if the reality he lived in was in fact, _reality._

Emil blessed grandmother Ensi, with her hand to his forehead, like he usually does. But in a silent, delicate manner, he kneels down and strangely offers her a golden comb, thin but sturdy, glittering in the moonlight. He whispers something to her, and he watches as his grandmother smiles softly, and nods ( _and does not catch the worry in her brow that she hides away_ ). The origin of the comb is lost to Lalli, because he suddenly doesn’t _care_ as to how it is there, and where it comes from.

He is suddenly aware of every beat of his heart, and the way the stars sing across the sky. Is aware of his shallow breaths, and of the very world he lives in, turning and spinning endlessly, on an axis which he cannot pinpoint. He becomes aware of his feelings, and the desires for his friend. Becomes aware of the depth of the universe, and how it cannot simply compare. Suddenly, the world is in Lalli’s hands, and he feels it thrum beneath him, as if it wakes to his call. His heart falters further, and from this very waking moment, he is thankful for the life he holds. Thankful for the world he lives in.

_Because the world is now his to bend—his to break._

If it meant tearing the heavens apart to have Emil, then it would be fine to Lalli.

_There is no heaven where Emil cannot be found._

And Lalli sits by the end of the stairs, of his nipa hut. He pretends not to notice the silent gesture behind Lalli’s back. Pretends he is blind to Emil’s intentions, as he formulates the words in his head, and tries to wrangle the feelings in his chest into a coherent thought. Like a knife’s edge, the world dances, as he separates the words surgically, and tries to not leave his thoughts in a disarray. He fails.

Lalli only listens as Emil walks down the stairs, and in a fit of nostalgia, sits next to him, and leans over. “Your grandmother’s still scary, you know?” His grin is a bright sun, in the early night. Lalli cannot help but widen his eyes at the languid smile, the sweet upturn of his lips cloying within Lalli’s heart. There are many things that Lalli wants to say. Many words he wishes he could carve into the moon and sun, so that Emil could see them every waking moment, of any passing day. May it be in the darkest shade of night, or the zenith of the sun in the afternoon; he wants Emil to know that his love is beyond needing riches. Beyond needing formal gestures, or persuasions of any kind. 

_He was taught by his mother to love with all of his heart, mind, and body. To endure and to sacrifice._

There is no need for the things of the world, when a person is the only thing that one needs.

A beat of silence passes by.

The humor is lost on Lalli, and Emil opens his eyes at the lack of a hum. He sees that Lalli’s brow is furrowed in worry, and without missing a beat, Emil sits up a bit straighter, unsure if he had something wrong, or if Lalli took his joke the wrong way. “O-oh, sorry, Lalli. Did I say something wrong?”

Lalli doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and Emil worries his hair; busies his hands through his thick strands, before he interlaces his fingers together. He waits patiently for Lalli to form his words, knowing he needs time.

Finally, a breath escapes out of Lalli, eyes hidden from where the stars hung in the sky. “You do not need to give my family riches, Emil,” He declares, staring ahead into the streets, before boring his eyes into him. The truth that swam through Lalli’s eyes reminded Emil of steel and daggers; the way they nicked his skin, and left a lovely burn, yet mirrored the light of the moon so well, it was nothing but the raw reflection he saw. _No faults, cracks, or lies._ Just a truth to mirror and to marvel at. “I am my own person. I do not need bargaining like the nobles do. I do not need the riches of the land, nor clothes that you carry. I do not _need_ money or value.”

Emil worries if he had offended Lalli, when his intentions were anything but. He worries that Lalli will reject him, and the thought of that sends pain right into his heart, and his hands quiver with the fear of rejection. But Lalli chases away the very fear he put into Emil ( _honestly, Lalli is the only person who could ever make him feel that type of fear_ ), and chases it away with a firm grasp to his quivering hand, bringing back focus to their narrow world. Lalli is the only one who knows how to calm him this way.

Emil stops shaking, as Lalli, with all the earnest he could muster in his smooth voice, says, “I am not something to be bought, Emil. I am not something to be _gifted_. I am your friend, and you already have me. All you have to do is ask.”

Emil thinks that Lalli is a liar. He thinks Lalli is magnificent in his words; better than the poems written on bamboos and leaves. Better than the very words Emil sang to the people and the stars. Lalli’s words are like the wind of Old Tolong, bringing in comfort, where comfort is needed. Emil takes in a sharp breath, and thinks that this is his very first, since his birth. His heart bursts with unbridled joy, and suddenly, the worries of tomorrow never seem bigger. Never seem to exist. They fall away, like the backdrop of the universe, bringing out the lights of the sky.

Emil thinks that the gods have blessed him with Lalli. He thinks there is no other he could thank for the boy before him.

Emil smiles, and it is so radiant and joyful, that Lalli can’t help but marvel at the sight. He hopes that he can make Emil smile like that everyday.

Emil holds Lalli’s hand—squeezes it, and stares, before he speaks. “I may not need to give anything for you, Lalli, but I want to. I want to, so no other can, and I want to, before my family tries to intervene. Yes, you are a _timawa_ , and the ceremonies aren’t as grand—and _yes_ , I do not need to go so far, but I want to do this for you. To show you, that through each adventure out in the wilderness, and through every kingdom I traveled, I thought of you everyday. You may not be a _Datu_ or a _Maharlika_ , but to me, you are more than deserving of these gifts, than any of them in this town.”

Lalli isn’t sure how he exists in that moment, and neither does Emil, but they do not question each other’s words. Do not question the validity of them, written in the flesh of their hearts, where only the other can bear witness to such. It is in the fullness of their breaths, and the tingle of their fingers, which confirm, that _yes,_ they are _real,_ and they are _now_.

Emil smiles at Lalli, and brushes a calloused thumb over the back of his hand. “I know you might not allow me to give you more gifts, but I’ll do so anyway.” He chuckles his words away, and Lalli faintly smiles along, allowing the world to sink back into him, as they both savor the silence of the growing night.

Lalli hums, before he asks a question. “How many more, before you are done?”

Emil answers, not missing a beat. “Four more gifts, so…that would be seven in all. One for each year that reminded me of you.”

And the third gift of tonight is given, and it is a _kamagi_ necklace, not as long as the ones the nobility wore, but just enough to fit around Lalli’s collar.

_Seven gifts._

The stars will remember that ( _and so does Lalli, and so do those who listen_ ).

* * *

The next day is silent and slow. The town wakes up sluggishly, the roosters caw in the break of dawn through the clouds, and soft light filters in between trees and houses to mark a new day. Old Tolong breathes softly, unknowing of the events to come—completely blind to the events that will be set into motion.

When Lalli wakes, there is a decision in his eyes, firm and unyielding, stronger than the heat of a thousand suns, and running far deeper than the trenches of the sea. He wakes up with a purpose and a start, steps so sure, that one would be surprised he hadn’t left craters in his wake. His heart beats steadily, almost breaking out into nervous flutters, as he tries to finish his early morning chores; feeding the chickens, watering the plants, and cleaning the house, before grandmother Ensi even wakes. He thanks the spirits for another day, before proceeding out the door, nearly midday when he finishes with the morning chores.

He intends to spend the day out with Emil; to show him the secret caves and patches of field he has found, while Emil was away all those years. He intends to show the little save havens that he had found, when Emil was gone all those years, to thank him for the heavy gifts and gestures he has given. He wants Emil to know that in those little havens, he was welcome to his hidden world. He was welcome into his life. He belonged somewhere, in the universe that Lalli knew and held. That if there was any other person, welcome enough to come into his life, it could be him. _Only him_.

Some would not agree.

He steps before Emil’s house, and finds his mother, sitting outside and cooling herself off with a weaved fan. Lalli greets the older woman, coming up to her to bless her. He holds her hand delicately, presses his forehead to the back of her hand, before stepping back. “Good afternoon, Manang,” he greets her cordially. Emil’s mother says his name back in greeting, and Lalli quickly gets to the point. “Is your son home?”

Sadly, she shakes her head, her eyes narrowed in pity, though there was no pity at all in her eyes. They were rather cold, but also guarded; a jaded blue that Lalli could not find had any resemblance to Emil’s welcome, sky blue. “Sorry, Lalli. He went off to go hunting with his father.”

Lalli inwardly deflates at the answer, heart heavy with disappointment, though it does not deter him, as he nods at Emil’s mother in understanding, saying, “I see, Manang. Thank you. Please tell Emil that I passed by, and that I intend to talk to him.”

“Of course, my boy!”

Emil’s mother smiles, but the gesture does not quite reach her eyes as she nods and agrees. Lalli is about to turn around, but whispers echo in Lalli’s mind, rippling and distant, and he knows better than to push them away. Allowing the voices in, he opens his mind, and lets the thoughts into his head. Allows him to know the truth.

_No, she won’t tell Emil_.

Lalli stops in his motion to turn around, and instead looks back at the woman, eyes sharp, _daring_. His eyes are dark and filled with such a depth, it’s as if darkness resides in his very soul. Lalli does not like being denied. Does not like anything standing in his way towards his goals and the very things he love. The stars know better than to step in his way, and the earth knows better than to block his rising anger. Lalli's soul is made of glass; fragile, yet dangerous when broken. Dangerous when pushed too far, exploding in many fractals that cannot be pushed back together, unless one intends to get hurt. _He should not be played with, especially with the spirits who he had gained their respect._

Unknown to many, the forest grows silent. The sky becomes still, and the clouds hang above them, unmoving and rooted to the spot, as if watching in bated breath.

Lalli speaks, voice calm, hiding a pandemonium that should not be dared to come out. “Manang, _please_ , do tell him. He would be delighted to know. We really need to talk.”

The woman does not see the warning signs, but is rather appalled by the weaver’s audacity. She is worried for her son—has _every_ right to be, and she didn’t want any cursed Hotakainen family members near her own son, fearing the demise of her own kin. But like anybody else, she is oblivious to the danger and the demise crawling underneath Lalli's love, when challenged. Rather, she questions and doubts whether Lalli knows her own son better than her. She may not know what they have; may not have all the pieces that can fit the picture together, but what does the boy know about _love?_ About the matters of the heart, and more importantly, _her own son?_

Lalli did not have a proper family, and naturally, did not have a proper foundation to grow on. He had no other visible friends, and made no outward attempt to try and mingle with the townspeople. So, Emil’s mother doubts whether Lalli even _knows_ how to love, or _who_ his very heart even beats for.

_Does his heart really beat for Emil?_

But Lalli is undeterred. Especially when he hears every single word her mind— _as clear as the stars out in a quiet field. As clear as the way they reflect in Lalli’s eyes._

His heart beats heavily, and the back of his neck feels hot. The clouds still refuse to move above them, and the forests are silent. Lalli filters the whispers out of his mind, leaving them to die in the wind, as he sighs out a breath. His words are like a calm eerie mist, but they imply a heavy storm, promising the end of days.

“My heart will only beat for Emil.”

_Seven words._

_Seven gifts._

A declaration.

_A truth_.

It sweeps Emil’s mother out of the water, and into dry, unfamiliar land. The declaration is powerful; brought to life by the stillness of the world, and the silence of the atmosphere, that only Lalli’s words and presence are enough to ensure that his words are _truth_. That they are a matter of fact, written into stone, solidified and etched into its form. The declaration honestly makes her confused; doesn’t know whether it makes her want to laugh, or to spit out her words in anger.

Emil’s mother turns away from Lalli, eyes angrily looking away to stare at a point in the sky, not really noticing how the clouds are staying still. “You do not know what you’re talking about, boy. Go home, sleep, and wake up from your foolishness.”

She does not notice how the shadows darken further.

“I am _no fool_. I love Emil,” he says the words, so straightforward, and _simple_ , that she feels offended that the special words sound like nothing to him. But she does not know—how these words are internalized, so seamlessly into his being, that saying the words are as natural as breathing air. As natural as the forests that grow and die, and as natural as the day that time has begun.

But she does not know, and so it only bolsters her anger. She declares, “ _Do not_ say those things! You will _not_ have my son! Not until the mountains stop sending cool air over Tolong! Not until the winds cease to chase away the rains! Not until the clouds disappear—not until someone steals the light of the moon!” She had stood up by then, her seat knocked over in her haste, and her fan left at her side.

Her jaded eyes, so blue, so depth-less, so _unlike_ Emil, glares at Lalli, and Lalli stares back at her defiantly as she declares her final statement; the final damnation that could’ve ended humanity. “You will _not_ have my son— _ever_. _The world has to stop turning, before I grant you your silly wish.”_

Lalli only stares at her, remembers each of her words; remembers every declaration, into the marrow of his bones, and replies, “I shall come back, when I have persuaded the world to stop spinning.”

And he leaves for his home.

Lalli does not meet Emil that day. When he returns home, he lights the candles for the night that descends and Ensi watches on. When she wakes the next morning, Lalli is gone.

Ensi sighs and gets up, to blow out the candles, and that's when she knows something is wrong.

She goes to blow out a candle, but is confused when the little light does not go out. She uses all of her breath, but she sees that the candles do not melt.

_But the lights keep on burning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, the next chapter is where all the world destroying is. FINALLY. 
> 
> I hope all of you liked this!!!!! If you have any thoughts or comments, please leave them down below!!!! I'd be so happy, HUHUHUHU


	6. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the world begins here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh? M-me? And my promised 2 day break that turned into 4 months??? 
> 
> HAHAHAHAHAHA oh my god, im so sorry HNGGGGGGG, i had to take a small break, and before I knew it, school took me hostage like a motherfucker. But finally _FINALLY _it ends HEREEEEEEE.__
> 
> _  
> _Don't mind the mistakes in the grammar or the spelling. Majority of this is being thundered through and processed fast because I'm excited, school still has me wrung by the balls, and I want this to be up NOW. So, PLEASE!!!!_  
> _
> 
> _  
> _Leave a comment, tell me your thoughts, let me know anything that caught your attention. Thank you UwU_  
> _

The next day, when the sun exchanged places with the moon, and broke through the horizon, there was an impending force in Lalli’s chest, burning like fire and blazing a trail akin to the gaze of the sun. He woke swiftly, brushing the hair on Grandmother Ensi’s head delicately as a form of farewell, before he prepared himself for the day of travel. He packed a thick block of _baye-baye_ , wrapped in banana leaves, took a jar of water, and broke off a branch— _or a large twig, really_ —off of the mango tree that took his mother. Before he left, he went back inside the small hut to check if he had left anything else.

After momentarily gazing around, Lalli opened the window that offered the sight of Old Tolong and the vast horizon. He looked beyond, and for a moment, he felt a heavy feeling in his chest— _something that tasted bitter and salty._ Something he was sure was named _guilt_.

A brief sea breeze brushed by, taking away those feelings in a single moment, and Lalli nodded, an idea forming within his head. With the charm that Emil had given him on one hand, Lalli hardened his resolve—readied himself to face the obstacles that had been laid before him. When he left for the mountains, the sun was only beginning to bathe the town in its golden light. A few people have woken, but they payed Lalli no mind when he passed by, walking with a large twig in hand, steps leading him from the familiar roads of Tolong, to the mountains of _Cuernos de Negros_ —the mountain ranges that breathed down cool air into Tolong.

But before he exited the town, he passed by Emil’s home. His home was still closed, and Lalli thanked the spirits that his mother was out of sight, and that nobody was there to see him. He stepped towards one of the closed windows, lined with columns of wood and bamboo. Delicately, fearing that the threads would snap, Lalli hooked the prized charm onto the sturdy wood. He closed his eyes, and asked the spirits to protect the charm— _protect Emil_.

And with the charm by Emil’s window, he set off, to stop the mountains from breathing.

It takes him half a day to get to the mountains, the town just being a strip of land that separated the sea from the heightened mounds. The sun was high in the sky, casting a shadow that lingered below him, and stretched no further beyond the reach of his hand. He was relentless in his travel.

Lalli never stopped, and never grew tired, even as the jungles grew thick, and the air became thin with fresh, clean air. He never wavered in his steps, nor took a break when he stumbled, as the meager rocks turned into monstrous boulders, or as the jungle began to prick his feet. Sweat glistened upon Lalli’s skin, but every time he remembered the bright sun above him, and the visage of Emil ( _lined in moonshine, holding his hand_ ), he bolstered through exhaustion until he no longer felt it. He bolstered through the heavy jungle, even as his knees and feet scraped across the ground. He _bolstered_ through, even as he stained the earth with his blood.

The air was thin and cool, when he reached the foot of the mountain. Lalli stopped briefly, and wiped the sweat away from his brow. He breathed in the fresh air, memorizing the sweetness that escaped the breath of the land; internalizing each lungful until he could name the sensation from memory.

And he breathed it all out, the large twig of the mango tree in hand. He dug and poked around the ground, gently searching for a place that was an amalgam of both clay and stone. As he did so, he reminisced on how Emil and him had traversed the jungle a few days ago, basking in the privacy it allowed them, making his heart full with affection and longing.

When he found a perfect spot, he dug into the earth. There, he sang.

“ _Didto sa amo, akong kasingkasing gahilak._ ” His voice was sibilant and melodious, and he continued on, reaching out to the god of the mountain, heart open and needing to be heard. He tried to sing the way Emil sang to him. “ _Hinaot unta, Kan Laon, nga imong dunggon ang akoang pagbati.”_ He brushed away the sweat from his brow idly, digging into the ground with the no due sign of stopping. His voice never changed in cadence, but the spirits listened to the emotion laced within them, so subtle yet stark like fine lacework, threaded into miniscule strands needing every attention to dismantle. “ _Ingna ang bukid nga dili na sya mohuyop ug hangin._ ”

( _From where I am, my heart sheds profuse tears;_ _  
_ _I implore, Kan Laon, god of the mountain, to hear my plea,_ _  
_ _And tell the mountains not to send the cooling breeze._ )

There is a moment, after Lalli sings his disjointed tune, where a silence pervades the noise of the jungle. Then there was a shift, beneath him, and the land moved and rumbled in soft waves, as if it was releasing a long breath. The mountains, up in the distance, rippled — grumbling. It echoed out, before Lalli heard a sigh come from the hole he had dug.

He stared at the hole with the satisfaction of a silent victor, heart relieved and filled with vigor, knowing he had accomplished what he had come to do. Lalli rose to his feet, for a moment, letting the reality sink in that he had just _asked the god of the mountain to stop breathing._ Then he turned around, following the trail back home, without a glance back.

  
  


This time, when he walked home with one burden lifted off of his shoulder, the air was no longer cool, and his trail through the jungle was marked by his own blood. The jungle was noisy once again, but the summer heat persisted even stronger, and it wasn’t long before he was sweating even more. Everything seemed to double in humidity; the jungles seemed to suffer — from the ground, and every critter he crossed paths with. His throat was parched, and the journey back home was even more tiring. But he kept walking and walking, till he came back to Old Tolong.

When Lalli returned to the town, the people were frazzled—worried that their livestock would die with the sudden absence of the cool air. Some argued that the mountain would return its cool breeze soon, while others still worried if it would ever return. Unlike everyone, Lalli knew better, and deep down in his heart, he could not find blame within himself. Even if he knew he had caused the lack of cool air, he found a grim satisfaction with the work he had accomplished.

His steps let him continue on, till he was at Emil’s home. The charm was not by the window anymore, and Lalli hoped that Emil had gotten it in time before his mother or father did. He found Emil’s mother at the front of the house, but there were no signs of Emil. His heart was disappointed, but he turned to his mother anyway.

“Where is Emil?” He asked her bluntly, not really caring anymore for any formalities, when it was clear from her sharp glare in his direction, that she would stand in his way and Emil’s. That gaze told him many things; a persistence to keep them from seeing each other. A persistence to risk even more than what she thought, and Lalli felt a bit of respect for her.

But it was futile. If she loved Emil, she should not have stood in between the things he loved. She did not try to understand the connection he and Lalli had, nor did she try to understand the way Emil saw things. Therefore, the little respect Lalli had for her died and faded somewhere in the wind. As it perished away, there was nothing else Lalli had felt for her. 

He would’ve tried to understand where her protectiveness came from—but Lalli saw no more cause to do that. Not when he had already stopped the mountains from breathing ( _and would ask the gods to bend to his will_ ).

“Did you stop the mountains from sending its cool air?” She dodged Lalli’s question with her own (much to his annoyance), but Lalli ignored her, opting to ask the question one more time with an insistent gaze, brewing with an unyielding determination.

Emil’s mother sighed in frustration, dropping the fan she had been using that failed to create cool air in the summer heat. Her other hand was clenched into a fist by her side. 

Lalli paid attention to the annoyance on her face. “I have sent him away with his father. They won’t be coming back in a few days. So, stop entertaining your foolish _heart_ .” She turned away from him, notwithstanding the sight of Lalli, and entered back into their home without a backwards glance ( _as if Lalli had not risked it all. As if he had not just asked a god from breathing_.)

Her scathing words left a scalding anger in Lalli that made his jaw clench. That made his heart hurt with her denial. 

But withholding his anger, he marched back to his home, bathed in the lights of candles that still never ceased to burn. There was a pandemonium brewing within him, larger than any storm they could wish to comprehend. It shook at the end of his fingers, and kindled embers into his heart that would soon grow into an inferno, endlessly blazing like the crown of the sun. 

Underneath the brilliance of its heat, he withheld the fire, and saved the storm for later—needing it for the tasks later at hand. However, he didn’t notice.

Clenched in the fist of Emil’s mother, she dared to hide Lalli’s charm ( _and dared to deny the evidence of them— a promise. A cycle. Their adoration._ )

( _We. Together. Us. Both. Them._ )

And no one should stand in between who they were.

* * *

  
  


When Lalli rose the next day, it was another draught of heat and unending humidity, but he did not mind it. There was a thundering anger in his heart, accompanied with a chasm that listened only to one name. He was ready to prove the world wrong—to prove Emil’s mother wrong. His determination lined his spine like steel, and he would meet the end of this journey, as if there was no other purpose to his life. He took pride and joy in weaving; never slacked off on his chores, never really got into trouble, and just stayed away from everyone in town, opting to heed the call of the stars above, and the pull of the world beneath his feet. They said many things worth listening to, and they understood him—unlike the townsfolk who regarded him with the repulsion of a strange entity they did not wish to understand.

The only thing tying him down to Old Tolong was his grandmother, and Emil. 

_Without them, the world would have long fallen to ruin._

“The heat is killing us, Lalli,” Grandmother Ensi told Lalli, with as much soft firmness she could press into her voice. “We can hardly _breathe_. Please, do not bend to the will of an unreasonable heart.”

Lalli did not regard Grandmother Ensi with the same anger he had regarded Emil’s mother. Instead, he understood her worry, but she was wrong. He _had_ reasoned with his heart; he _had_ thought about the decision already—long before Emil came back. Long before his stories formed beneath the will of his hands, and twined itself into the rattan and abaca he wove into physical manifestations of his woes and happiness. His mind and heart made a decision, before his stories and Emil’s began to circle the land, and brought whispers across the continent. There was no _bending to an unreasonable heart_.

There was only standing up for what it wanted.

 _And it wanted Emil_.

Lalli said nothing to her, but she understood that there was no more reasoning with him, when all the reason he needed was _not_ her. It sent a lance of pain through Ensi, as Lalli continued to methodically pack for the day, to venture to Laon knows where. He didn’t listen to her chiding, and Ensi did not blame him. She did not blame her dear old grandson, whose mother was taken away, and whose life was left with a hole that only one seemed to fill. She didn’t blame the boy, but continued cursing the romantic whimsies and ploys of the spirits in her head instead.

She cursed all of them; blamed them, and called them out. 

Then all she did by the time Lalli left was sit down by the seat of her window, knowing it would take only a few days for the sky to rain fire.

His feet brought him out of the town, and into a dusty trail that led to the loud, crashing waves of the sea, that faced Old Tolong. The sand beneath his feet was hot, and nearly baked by the unending heat of the sun. Dry coconut shells littered near the lines of palm trees, seaweed and other manners of marine plant life that laid awash by the sandy white shore. There was an occasional crab here and there, but Lalli paid no attention to anything, except for the horizon that lay beyond his reach.

His throat was dry from the trip, even if he kept drinking water from the jar that he had brought. The humidity clung to the air, and made his skin glisten with sweat, but all this—he paid no mind to.

He silently prayed to the spirits and gods—to whomever would love to listen to the woes of his heart, and made his way across the fiery sand, holding back curses from the way they seared his skin. He paid no mind, and knelt before the sun overhead, and set his eyes cross the sea, knees digging into the fine grains. The waves crashed and roared, lulling like a live heartbeat, as birds flitted by with their tunes every now and then. It was hypnotic, and matched the tempo that beat across his chest, spilling outward to join the sea.

Everything sunk down into a unit of sound that held thrumming life, as if Lalli and the sea were one entity. He hoped that the sea could hear what his heart had to say, and with that, he hoped that they would listen. Opening a jar by his side, filled with crushed mango leaves he had taken from the mango tree; he took the fine powder in his hands, and cupped it, to keep it away from the threatening winds.

Lalli brought his face close, and sang to the cavern of his hands. His heart crashed with the waves. 

“ _Didto sa amo, ang akong kasingkasing gahilak,_ ” his own breath threatened to blow the powder away, and Lalli softened his voice, hoping to the dear gods that his words would be louder than the roars of the tides. He remembered how he and Emil watched the sun rise above the horizon on this very beach. The memory made his heart thump audibly.

 _“Hinaot unta, Tau-mari-u, nga imong dunggon ang akong pagbati._ ” He noted the way the sound of the sea softened, but he never opened his eyes, thinking that if he did look, it would break away what little connection he had already acquired. 

He conjured the thought of how Emil looked perfect in the light of the rising sun, and how he set Lalli on fire by simply holding his hand. He let the image fuel his plea.

“ _Ingna ang mga hangin sa tibuok kalibutan nga dili na sila mohunong sa ulan._ ” With the end of his tune came the silence; no birds cawed overhead and the shore became silent with the knowledge that his prayers have been heeded. The powder in his hands suddenly held a weight heavier than the world, as he remembered who all this was for.

( _From where I am, my heart shreds profuse tears:_ _  
_ _I implore Tau-mari-u, god of the sea, to hear my plea,_ _  
_ _And tell the winds from all around never to stop sending the rain._ )

_Emil._

Lalli remembered fixing Emil’s hair, from the harsh winds of the sea, and how he looked upon Lalli with wonder; with a silent awe and unending devotion that sent the firmament of stars and galaxies retreating into the back of his mind. 

With a final breath, Lalli tossed the grounded leaves into the air, and watched, as the winds scooped them all up and brought them out to sea. Lalli waited for a full moment, as the calm skies seemed to freeze in a moment of silence. The skies paused, as if a breath had been held—halted by a force beyond him. Then there was a shift in the atmosphere— _not the wind that was absent_ —but a shift of the density in the sky. As if it were condensing itself into a thick feeling of heaviness overhead, that held so much weight and sorrow. 

The density of it grew, until it felt like bricks upon his back. Suddenly, almost deafening in its sudden appearance, rain began to pour from the sky, weeping endlessly and meeting the ground with thousands of tiny patters—altogether sounding like explosions and crashes. It fell, in thick sheets and cataracts; fell in fat blobs that ran down his figure, and drenched him to the bone within just a few seconds. But Lalli didn’t freeze nor feel the cold, for there was no wind that rushed by his figure. Heat and humidity still clung to the air; the world was drenched in a dichotomy of both searing heat and fat sheets of rain, despite the sun being obscured by the clouds.

All of this, for Emil.

  
  


The world was drenched in chaos, and Lalli watched as people scrambled about like headless chickens who ran back to their gods, begging for salvation. Nobody noticed the fearful aura around him, as he returned to Tolong, every inch of him drenched, nearly mirroring the angry, weeping sky. His eyes were darkened to fine points, like spears seeking a target—glowing darkly with a purpose.

He watched as people faced towards the mountains, and invoked Laon’s name. He watched as they helplessly asked for forgiveness, for any sort of offense they had committed. He watched as they prostrated uselessly, and apologized for some of their brethren and cousins, who turned their backs to Laon, and listened to the teachings of the white man’s saints. He watched, as Laon never heeded their call, and never bowed their back to the cries of the people, having already heard Lalli’s own.

Lalli ignored them all as he walked back home. 

Kan Laon’s nearest companions were the stars, who told them of ballads and stories of feeble humans. Kan Laon would listen, and would swallow the stories whole, for no other could weave stories the same way stars scoured the universe for timeless ones. The stars spoke endlessly with Lalli; they spoke of the way Lalli wove stories and held on to his heart for years; how his stories spanned to reach the tips of the earth, where his lover was. How his lover would return the stories, to breach the lands and the skies, and the seas, to meet him here. Kan Laon listened for years, and found the hope of the child bitter, yet sweet. Found the surprising presence of Lalli, at the foot of their mountain, even more so.

So, Kan Laon listened only to Lalli’s prayers, and hoped that the child would be united with his lover in the rivers of Laon—if they were to be denied here.

Kan Laon would not straighten their back, until the child was granted the wish of his heart.

( _They would not do so, for the boy never abandoned the spirits and the stars. Kan Laon would never abandon those who never turned their back on them_.)

When Lalli came to Emil’s home once more, there was still no Emil, and there was still his mother by the front. Heat clung to the air, despite the darkness that covered the lands because of the booming rain and heavy clouds. Lalli found her through the dim darkness.

He asked once more, if she were willing to allow her son to have him, just as much as Lalli wanted to have Emil.

This time, there was no immediate anger. Only confusion and huffs of silence.

But those were no answers either, so Lalli left, a task lifted off of his shoulders, but a few more weighing him down, heavy upon his soul. Her lack of answer left him desperate for one. Left him only crackling with impatience. _So, he would do what it takes._

( _Seven words once more. A promise between them; we, together, us, both them_.)

Lalli’s home was still bathed in candlelight, never ceasing to burn, and burning even brighter.

* * *

The rain was still pounding away upon the ground, when Lalli woke to its dull tune. The day was still filled with heat, but the skies were dark and trembling with its own sorrow. Grandmother Ensi was nowhere to be seen, and Lalli had taken his time to worry where she was, but he had faith in her that she would come back, the same way Lalli could never be found unless he wanted to be. Instead of wandering out into the pounding rain, Lalli decided to continue forth into his next task in his home, not requiring much distance. There was a foreboding feeling that hung heavy over the town, who waited with rapt attention to what would happen next, if things were to get worse. 

_And oh—they were_.

He went out of his home, not shielding himself from the pounding rain, and dug into the wet soil near the mango tree with grim determination, hands shaking with effort and sweat mingling upon the pouring rain. He never stopped till he dug out a few roots of the tree, cutting them off from the pulpy mass of the rest. He traversed to a nearby nook, where a gigantic rock lay next to his home, shielding a dry patch of ground from the rain.

To do his magic plea, he laid the roots down on the dry ground, and allowed the moisture of the roots to seep out. He waited for hours, hearing the heavy patter of the rain, drowning in worry over his grandmother. But most of his heart was occupied be Emil, who he could feel was still not in town.

He missed him so terribly. The absence of seven years made their absence hard to bear, and now, this absence was even stronger than before. Lalli wanted to run from Old Tolong. Wanted to bring Emil with him, where their love didn’t need the approval of others. Yet—even if Lalli put it that way—then why was he doing _all of this?_

Lalli was selfish and prideful. He wanted to prove everyone _wrong_ . Because Emil was tied down heavily to his family, with him being their only child, it would be hard to separate him from the town. With the declaration of his mother’s words, came Lalli’s declaration to prove his own devotion that shouldn’t be challenged. He wanted to prove that his love was deserving of Emil, and Emil deserved his love; that he loved like everybody else—or perhaps even _more_ . He wanted to prove them wrong, and show that he was _worthy_ of Emil. Show that he would take everything in his power to protect the child of the sun, and help his flames grow brighter, through the thick of even the darkest of nights. 

_And if he destroyed the world in the process, maybe that was proof enough, too._

When the hours finally waned away, and the roots were dry, Lalli returned to the dry spot, and knelt by the roots. He took two dry stones in his hands, and closed his eyes, trying to remember how Emil had taught him to light a fire. Tried to remember the warmth of his scarred hands, guiding his fingers and arms to apply the necessary force and swiftness. 

He could remember how Emil laughed into his ear, and blew warmth against his neck, tussling the hair there. Remember how he traced Lalli’s arms, and how Lalli reciprocated by tracing the trails of ink on the flesh of Emil’s back. He remembered how their gazes sparked in the light of the fire, igniting like the brilliant light of the sun, chasing the watchful gaze of the moon. Lalli remembered how Emil’s breath hitched, when Lalli traced a small kiss down the column of his neck, enough to heat up sand into glass and form shards that Lalli wished he could hold, form, and _shatter_ again, in the heat of their passion.

With just one smash, and a patient flick, sparks ignited. These sparks flew from the point of contact of the rocks, and found the dry roots, immediately igniting into a blaze, and turning the wood into a black mass, that fed into the heat of the fire. Lalli watched patiently over the fire, until all that was left were embers and lonely ash. When the crackling embers remained, a thick plume of smoke escaped, wrapping Lalli into a mock of an embrace.

Lalli closed his eyes, in the weightless hug, and sang:

“ _Didto sa amo, ang akong kasingkasing gahilak,_ ” he sang, as the world fell silent once again to hear his plea. The booming rain now felt distant, and the heat that clung around him became a numb presence, hanging over him with a faint heartbeat. 

“ _Hinaot unta, Lang-an sang Kadalayapan, nga imong dunggon ang akong pagbati,_ ” his words bled his longing, and the world ate it all up, suffused into the smoke, the heat, the wet soil, his beating heart. Everything became one in tandem. 

“ _Ingna ang mga panganod nga dili na sila mohunong sa kakusog sa adlaw_ ,” he ended his plea silently, and behind his eyes were thoughts of Emil, by his side. What would Emil think, if he were beside him right now, to witness the lengths Lalli was willing to go for? What would he think of Lalli — reaching the gods and begging them for the child of the sun? What would Emil think, beyond the world, and just of this moment? 

( _From where I am, my heart sheds profuse tears:_ _  
_ _I implore Lang-an of Kadalayapan, goddess of the sky, to hear my plea,_ _  
_ _And tell the clouds never to veil the heat of the sun._ )

And as if the goddess were answering, the sound of the rain came booming back into existence, and the heat became oppressive against his body, slathering him in humidity. But through the darkness that the clouds had once brang — came the break in the clouds across Old Tolong, and the impending light of the sun. A shriek — an otherworldly _scream_ wrung through the sky, and a moment of silence came before the rain fell with even more fury, sprinkling in all directions, as the sun bared down from the receding clouds to reveal its furious face. 

Lalli once remembered days of rain and sunny skies. Those days were soft sprinkles of rain, filled with the meekness of the sun, that created rainbows that lanced through the clouds. 

_But this was different_ . This tragedy — this _day_ — was different. 

As cries filled the town, and terror murmured across the land, Lalli wondered. 

_What would Emil think, if he knew that Lalli asked the mountains to stop breathing, and unveiled the clouds to bring down the fury of the sun in the middle of a summer storm?_

When Lalli re entered his home, he never noticed how when the rain fell, it could hardly touch the dry ground because of the heat of the sun.

Inside, the candle lights could rival even the light of day. 

* * *

The crops finally failed on the third day. The natural laws of nature had been defied. The soil was no longer moist and fertile — _but dry and thirsting_ — and though it rained and _stormed_ across the earth, the rain never reached the ground to nourish the dying life there. People have grown stoic, only knowing doom beyond that day, and Lalli — well, the pity in his heart was small. 

He walked across Tolong, bearing the sight of his doings, and persisted once more. 

Emil’s mother stood before him, and now — she trembled with fear. _Rightfully so_. 

“Tell me,” Lalli implored her softly, using the small pity in his heart to show his resolute nature. “Where is Emil? _Cuerno de Negros_ no longer breathes. I have brought us the impending monsoons. I have allowed the sun to cast its fury through the storm.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and though his voice was steady, there was pain when he said, “ _I l_ _ove_ _Emil._ ”

The only sight that answered him was her back, as she fled into her home. 

Lalli came back home — not surprised to have found that the candles never died, and only cast light brighter than he had ever thought it could have.

There, he walked into the sun, and waited — too busy with the weight of the world on his shoulders to notice that Emil had returned home that day. 

* * *

  
  


The next day came, and Lalli had not slept since he had returned. Grandmother Ensi had not come back, and he was worried — but the longing and fury in his heart persisted through every bone and sinew in his body, that he felt and _knew_ what he had to do next. Through the sleepless night — the sun never went down, and the moon was terrified by its fury, scared to be caught in its sight. The old town was quiet, fearing more what little action they could do that would anger the gods, as the exhausted moon finally hid behind _Cuerno de Negros_ , leaving a night as bright as the light of day. 

The longing in Lalli’s heart was almost overwhelming him — so he began early, plucking the last mango fruit from the tree of his mother as the day rose into fruition, the sun only growing brighter as it glowered. 

He cast his eyes about the sky, calculating the time, the hour, the _second_ , till the next night would come. He left the mango on a clay plate, and settled it where it could absorb the light of the moon from his home, if it were to rise again the next night. 

Then the next restless night began — the moon being chased away by the sun, fury in its steps across the sky as the moon cast its faint silver light across Old Tolong before it once again, hid behind _Cuernos de Negros_. It feared the sun’s wrath in its place in the sky, taking over the firmaments where the moon was supposed to rest. But its small presence had been enough — enough to feed the little fruit that Lalli had laid aside.

When morning came, Lalli tiredly walked towards the mango on the clay plate. When he saw that the mango had absorbed enough moonshine — heavy in his hands, and full with silvery slips of a soul, he knew it was ready. As ready and sure as his thrumming soul. His heart burst with determination, and when he looked up at the sky again, he counted, the hours, the minutes, the _seconds_ till next nightfall one last time. 

The pit in his heart was waiting to fulfill this task, answering only to one name on his lips. When nightfall came once more — _it was ready to be fulfilled_. 

The moment that it was _supposed_ to be nighttime, and the terrified moon peeked over _Cuernos de Negros_ to peer at the sun, it was almost _easy_ . It was just _enough_ of its moonshine that Lalli took the opportunity and sang. 

“ _Didto sa amo, ang akong kasingkasing gahilak,_ ” he tried to sing as loud and steady as he could, for the moon to heed the wishes of his heart, like a friend. He peeled the mango in his hand, as the moon laid its eyes on him, silvery light shining as his mouth watered with the heady scent of the mango. 

“ _Hinaot unta, Mayari, nga imong dunggon ang akong pagbati_ .” His fingers pierced through the flesh of the fruit, and the softness of it reminded him of Emil, when Lalli set his chin on one of his shoulders, to hold him beneath the waterfall — _when they fell, and they swam, and they reemerged_ — and there was nothing else to stop them from just _being_. When Emil pressed back into him, and Lalli was powerless to do anything than to just let him turn around — and kiss him till he could believe that air was no longer a necessity. 

Lalli looked up at the moon solemnly, _grievously_ , and sang to the moon, “ _Ingna ang bulan nga matulog, para makabakon ang dagat._ ” 

_(From where I am, my heart sheds profuse tears:_   
_I implore Mayari, goddess of the moon, to hear my plea,_ _  
_ And tell the moon to sleep so the sea may rise.)

And with the fruit peeled, Lalli ate the mango — the juice and meat of it refreshing, slaking his parched throat from the past suffering days. He almost trembled with the taste of it, as he made his way around its bone. When all the meat of it was gone — all that was left was its seed, shaped like the crescent of the moon, held in the palm of his hand. 

He wiped the sticky juice from his mouth, and prayed for a moment as his friend gazed upon him from the sky. When Lalli looked up and gazed back at the moon, his eyes turned down sadly and as if Lalli was saying his farewell, the moon sighed sadly. 

In the sky that was almost as light as day, from behind _Cuernos de Negros_ , the moon just... _faded away_.

In its hiding spot, the silvery beams of its glow faded, as if Lalli’s plea was a rejection to a lover, and the moon was being rejected for another ( _and it was_ ). Gradually, its glow disappeared, leaving the dark face of the moon as a large emptiness in the sky. Lalli was almost tempted to console the friend of his stars; to reach out and pluck the moon from the sky to reassure it. 

But — such a thing would be cruel. He had done the unthinkable for the wishes of his heart, and even if he were to console the moon, he still did not regret what he had done for Emil. He did not regret slowly destroying the universe this way — for if the world refused to have him and Emil, then all that Lalli had to do was carve a world out of this one to have him all. 

Around Old Tolong, the tides rose over the beaches, threatening to swallow them all. The deep depths of the ocean grumbled and yawned like a chasm, drawing _nearer, and nearer, and nearer_ , like a beast being called from beyond a cave. 

That night, everyone witnessed the death of the moon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so....what dya think?????
> 
> I hope I managed to deliver this well. I'd love to know what you think about this!!!


	7. An Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sees the storm across the sea - and is promptly beckoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say in this one, except that it's Emil's point of view. 
> 
> Please excuse my grammatical errors and spelling mistakes!!! I was making this while eating dinner! 
> 
> Anyway, translation:  
> Mahal - Love/Beloved 
> 
> If you have any thoughts or comments, please, leave some down below!

It was the day that the sun rose to fury through a storm that Emil and his father had decided to come back home, spying the warring weathers across the sky that spanned perhaps, across the entire seven thousand islands — and even then, beyond that. It would take hours to get back to Buglas from a few islands away, Emil watching the birds from inland, flying away from the refuge of Old Tolong. The rains had been falling in cataracts, and the heat of the world pounded down, so much so, that Emil had thought he had been sent back into the old deserts he had traversed that separated the seven kingdoms. 

As he stood at the end of the _bangka_ , swaying with the beat of the sea, Emil’s blue eyes cut across the water as his father pulled in the ropes, tucking away the golden weaponry they had traded from the neighboring islands. A nervous, profound feeling of urgency churned in Emil’s stomach as he spied the far-off shore. 

“Emil,” his father grunted from behind him, “are you not affected by the strange weather?” 

And Emil turned around to reply — only to finally notice that _no_ , he was not. He had noticed the change in the winds of course, and the density of the clouds. Noticed the suddenly blazing sun above them, but where he was supposed to be sweltering from the heat, he was only sweating from the exertion of rowing the boat, carrying the weapons. 

Where he was supposed to feel pain from the heaviness of the rain, he felt nothing. Nothing but nervousness for Lalli — islands away from him, probably in the heart of this godforsaken weather. Emil turned away from his father, opting to pick up the paddle once more to hurry towards the island. 

Underneath his breath, he sang, “ _Dunggan ko, Tau-mari-u, kay akong kasingkasing nagkabalaka. Diri sa amo, naghilak ang langit, og ang araw, gasakit og minaayo._ ” He wiped the sweat from his brow, not from the sun, but from the burning in his shoulders and back, as he cut through the waters. He did not have an easy grasp with the pleas to the gods like Lalli did — but for Lalli’s sake, he tried. 

“ _Sa bayan kung asa ko pinanganak — naa didto ang akong hinigugma_ ,” he made sure to sing that phrase as low as possible — lest his father hear him and find out just who Emil sang for. He implored the winds and the sea to hear his heart. 

“ _Hinaot unta, na madunggan ang akong pagbati — na paspas ang akong biyahe sa dagat para makita nako siya.”_ He ended with a sigh, pushing more strength into each row. For a moment, nothing happened, from the sheets of pouring rain that never touched his head, down towards the beating of the sun that never bothered his golden flesh.

( _Hear me, Tau-mari-u, for my heart weeps with worry,_ _  
_ _From where I am, the heavens cry, and the sun is hurting profusely._ _  
_ _In the town where I was born, there also lives my beloved._ _  
_ _I implore you to hear my plea: that my travel across the sea_ _  
_ _will be swift, so I may see him again._ )

Then the burden of his rowing lightened, the resistance of the waves loosening as he rowed each more — closer and closer towards the shore of Buglas. They arrived a few hours earlier than they should’ve, the boat stopping awash by the shore. With the heavy weaponry upon his back, Emil followed his father and shouldered on to the path for Old Tolong. But as they walked — they found that the heat and the rain had only brought famine, and when they traversed into the once supposedly cool forestry and fields near the foot of the mountain — the cool air no longer breathed down from high above. 

“Something is wrong…” Emil muttered to his father, grunting once as he heaved the weapons over his shoulder. “I do not believe the spirit of the land favors us anymore, papa.”

His father nodded along, wiping away sweat from his brow, while Emil didn’t have a single glisten from his skin. 

“I fear the same thing. The crops won’t be able to survive this, and neither will Tolong,” his father said, bustling forward. Emil pressed his lips shut as they shouldered on, his worry surmounting for Lalli. The state of land only became worse as they traversed through; cattle dead, plants dying, and once fertile soil — cracked and dry like the desert. Even stranger was that Emil was never even affected by the heat, and not once was he parched on the way. 

He did not notice how his father glanced strangely at him every now and then, and if he did — then Emil brushed it off, wanting to hurry back home. He had never really been that close to his father, the connection between them distant and strained. Emil felt less like a son, and more of an assistant with his father. He never really knew where the both of them stood — where the bond must’ve went. 

Maybe it had disappeared all those years ago, when his father had sent him away with Torbjorn, to travel the world, regale tragedies, and tear him away from Lalli here. Maybe that connection died when he decided that duty and honor was more important than his family. Maybe it had already long laid in its tomb, when he saw Emil more as an advantage, than a son. 

That connection would be made clear now, as his father stopped before him. 

“I heard you singing in the boat earlier,” he began, and Emil froze momentarily, before nodding his head, feigning innocence. His father continued, “Who were you singing to?”

“Tau-mari-u, papa,” Emil dutifully answered, while a part of him sincerely hoped his father did not hear him say the word “ _beloved_ ” from his earlier plea. 

They continued down the path to Tolong at a slower pace now, his father holding suspicion as they neared home. “What were you praying to him for?” 

Emil had to answer the following questions carefully, and in order to avoid suspicion — he answered with the truth. “To help make the trip go faster. It would’ve taken us a few more hours to get back.” Half of the truth anyway, omitting the reason _why_. 

His father hummed at that, and Emil teetered on concluding whether or not he was still suspicious, or if those suspicions were finally abated. 

“Then you didn’t ask for —” his father gestured to all of Emil, “immunity against this weather?” 

Well, if that was what his father was suspicious about, then Emil was at a loss, too. Answering his father with a genuinely confused face, Emil shook his head, saying, “No, I didn’t. Though I do find it strange why I’m...unaffected.” 

Yet, despite such an unassuming question and unclear answer— it was enough — _it was all that it_ _took_ to confirm whatever suspicion his father had, because he shook his head. Directed to Emil, he chuckled with a humorless grin. “You don’t think I’m aware of the Hotakainen, Emil?”

Emil’s steps stuttered to a halt and his father sighed, disappointed as he turned to him. 

Spluttering, Emil tried to deflect, “W-what about him? What does this have to do with him? He hasn’t done anything —” 

“Are you sure about that? They are _cursed_ , Emil,” his father hissed, and a flash of disbelief lanced through Emil’s heart, before it thundered into anger on Lalli’s behalf. “And at the moment, the world is suffering while you — _you,_ are all right! That lunatic might be the one bringing tragedy upon this land! And don’t think your mother hasn’t told me about the feast!” 

At that, Emil clamped his lips shut, the nervous flutters in his stomach curdling and dying into a righteous fury as he faced his father who continued with his reckless claims. 

“He has nothing to offer for your hand, and might curse you to have an _encanto_ whisk you away! And you’re my _only_ son, and I won’t have you waste away your life with a cursed weaver!” 

Emil took a step forward to his father, face twisted in anger as the skies overhead mirrored the fury in his heart. “My life is _mine_ to waste, not yours! I am old enough to make my own decisions!” 

His father pressed back against his forehead, gripping Emil roughly by his jaw. “How dare you! Your mother and I have offered you freedom and an opportunity to roam the world! To experience glory! To become stronger! It is time that you return the favor to us, for once!” 

Ugly, twisted fury bubbled within Emil’s heart, and he ripped his jaw away from his father’s hands, shoulders shaking with the laughter of disbelief. He shook his head, distancing himself from his father as he drew such a baffled expression, he wondered how his father even _thought_ that he had been doing Emil a favor, sending him away all those years ago. 

“So, sending me away for seven years was my choice?! You were doing me a _favor_ ?!” Emil pinched the bridge of his nose in between his fingers, wincing with hilarity as he shook his head. “When you sent me away, I thought you were getting _rid of me_ . Tell me, papa, was sending me off without my choice supposed to make me _love_ you?” 

Even though it was rhetoric, the question was _sincere_ , and when his father flinched, Emil enjoyed the unexpected flicker of emotion he landed upon him. In those span of seven years, the anger and contempt that Emil had stashed away in his heart still slept there, buried beneath the soil of compassion that he had planted for Lalli, growing with the bed of patience which he needed to last, all those years. 

To come home to Lalli — to find him with no friends, and to be somewhat feared within their town was not what he had wished to return to. To see the sparkling hope that Lalli’s eyes held for him made him feel loved and _welcomed_ , but to see it, because there was nothing else in life that Lalli looked forward to made his heart ache. 

Lalli deserved the world. Deserved to see it, know it, _feel it_. 

Emil wished he had stayed all those seven years, to comfort Lalli, hold his hand, and reassure that absence would no longer be his number one fear. That abandonment would not exist — not with Emil by his side. That all those cold nights of loneliness, fear, _death_ in uncertain lands could’ve been traded for more nights with a boy who wove stories for the stars. 

( _We. Together. Us. Both. Them_.)

His only regret in life was not being by Lalli’s side all those seven years, and nothing would stop Emil from mending that mistake. 

So with a glare sent his father’s way, the weight of metal and gold on his back, he said, “You do not do favors to make someone _love you_ , papa. You should actually, _genuinely_ try.” 

And he ran back home to Tolong — his father running after his heels.

But Emil had always been far ahead of him.

He had always been out of his reach. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Old Tolong was suffering, when Emil finally entered its threshold, but saving it was beyond his mind and his control. Through the angry beams of the sun, and the scattering storm that laid no hand upon him, the first thing he had in mind was gathering all of his belongings, and to have Lalli run away with him. _To have Lalli by his side_. Clearly, the world was failing them that day — in all aspects, beyond the physical. His father knew, and his mother knew and it was clear that they did not want Lalli by his side. 

_Then good._

If they didn’t want Lalli, then neither did they want Emil. So the next logical step to take was to _leave_.

All the gifts he had stashed away, he would gather altogether, and then he would run away with Lalli, till this tragedy would be left behind. Till the winds would be tamed back into place, and the world would be righted from madness of the heavens and the earth. Till all reason and nature that had given up would soon take back its place, to leave this wild, hysterical dance. 

However, after barging into their home and dropping the weaponry by the door, Emil ran to the basket where he had tucked all of the gifts and belongings he had laid out, hidden in the corner of his room. He ignored his mother’s shouts, right until she came into his room with him. 

The basket in his hands was empty. 

“Mama,” he called to her desperately, feeling his heart being torn to shreds at the sight of the emptiness that greeted him. _All the rest of those seven years — gone_ . He could not feel each of his limbs, as his mind was occupied with nothing but panic, beyond the feeling of disembodiment. “Where are my belongings? My souvenirs? _Where are they?_ ” 

His mother, a ghost of who she was — affected by the warring weather and frayed from the growing panic that the town was accumulating, stood behind him, eyes too wide and frantic. “I — they’re _gone_ , Emil.”

Emil clenched his jaw, ignoring the stinging tears of anger and betrayal, fighting to spill from his eyes. He asked through clenched teeth, “Then where _are they?_ Those were years of effort, mama. _Seven years_ out there — of my _time_. My soul! I cannot go without them! Just tell me!” 

His mother sniffled, but the sound only angered Emil, as he turned around to face her. The blue of her eyes were dark and sad, brimming with sorrow. She reached for her son with one hand to caress his cheek. “But I don’t want you to _leave_. You cannot go! What is it that will keep you from leaving? What ties you down here, so you won’t leave?” 

And the question — saddened Emil. 

He felt guilty, because the answer was not her. Not his father. Not any of them, or together. 

But it was Lalli — who saved him from the ghouls of the mountain. Who whispered stories that reached across the land to find Emil. Who became his first and only friend. Who waited for him here, for _seven years_ . Who looked up at him with hope, joy, exasperation, _adoration_ — who looked beyond Emil’s title as a nobleman, a hero, a warrior. Who called Emil the _sun_ . The _star_ . Who wove art out of life, and kissed him underneath a waterfall. Who embraced him when he returned and acted as if letting go would hurt him _more._

Lalli cut into him and his heart, with a side so reflective, that it held nothing but the truth. He bared parts of Emil, and peered at the child within him, desperate for love and acceptance where he was deprived. And Lalli had always been hard to love and was hard at sharing his love in return. To coerce him out of his shell, in order to show his adoration of the world. But Emil had tried, had _succeeded_ — and there was no one else out there he would want to have except for Lalli. 

And Emil had travelled all the seven kingdoms, but each one was no home like Lalli had always been. 

So, when Emil looked down at his mother sadly, that was all the answer that she needed to know: _it was not her_. 

She shook her head, stepping back and out of reach from Emil. There was denial on her face, painting her lashes with tears. Her hands trembled, and Emil only watched her with sadness as she stumbled away, because she knew. The damage had been done, and she knew the truth. And the truth hurt _far_ more for her than it did for him — and consoling her would only widen the wedge of pain he had stabbed her with. 

But then — “Wait!” Emil called out to her, eyes spying something familiar in between her hands. When his mother paused, he finally saw it in clarity — the small fibers of a charm, woven to make tiny little flowers that looked like stars, flowering into existence with one name in mind. 

Emil ripped the charm out of her hands, delicately cradling it into his chest. “Where did you get this?!” 

His eyes were accusatory, holding a shiftless blame, that if she answered wrong, his fury would bear down on her. The delicate charm was a precious promise that Emil had kept secret with Lalli — so to have it in his mother’s hands — meant Lalli had come to his home. Had talked to his mother. _Had left something for Emil_. 

“Lalli — he left it behind by your window!” She answered, cowering underneath Emil’s glare. 

At the admission, Emil’s heartbeat thundered. It ached at the thought of Lalli having to leave the charm behind while Emil was not here. It _had_ to be for a reason. There had to be _something_ that Lalli must’ve been trying to say. The charm was a promise — a cycle. A promise that met itself in the end — _to return_. 

_Lalli had gone off to do something_. 

“Has he said anything to you? Have you said anything to him?” Emil interrogated his mother, mind racing to think of any places where he could be. “Does the sun and rains have anything to do with him? Has something happened to the mountains while I was away?” So many thoughts raced his through mind, as every piece of the puzzle tried to fit itself together to form the shape of a conclusion he could barely name. But he hardly had any pieces to go by, except for the little weaved charm in his hand that mattered the world. 

When his mother didn’t answer, Emil softly pleaded with desperation, so genuine and real, that it hurt to even hear. “Mama, _please_ ...I need to know. I _need_ to know” 

His mother took a shuddering breath, brushing away her tears, before slumping her shoulders in defeat. “He has…” she cleared her throat, before looking down solemnly, not meeting his eyes. “He has gone off to look for Ensi in the mountains. She has gone missing recently, and Lalli — he….he doesn’t know when he’ll be coming back. He thinks an _encanto_ may have whisked her away, and he won’t come back till he gets her, and that’s why the world is...in a disarray...” 

Emil stopped short at that, heart sinking deep down into the pit of his stomach. Lalli — alone in the mountains, _without him_ , made a part of him nervous. Of course, Lalli could take care of himself up there, and perhaps, best every ghoul on the mountain with ease and a plea from the spirits. But to know that Lalli was out there, shouldering a desperate pain without him made Emil hurt more. It sounded so much like Lalli — to never give up on searching until he finally found what he was looking for.

To bend and break the world for those important in his life. 

_And to have his grandmother whisked away, after having his mother taken, seven years prior?_

Searching for Ensi was a burden that Emil was willing to share — like his songs, the tattoos on his back, and every little part of him that Lalli wished to have. A pain to share with Lalli would be a blessing to shoulder with him. Emil had no cause to question his mother’s words. 

Not when he was so devoted to Lalli, _without a doubt_. 

He trusted his mother — when this time, he should’ve doubted her. 

“I will go after him,” he said resolutely, tone leaving no room for argument. 

“N-no, you _won_ ’t,” his father walked through the threshold of their home, and Emil glared at the sweat soaked man, who had long stumbled down the path Emil had taken to get back faster to Old Tolong. 

Emil was about to protest his father, but then his mother stood before him, ushering him to leave. 

“Let him leave, _mahal,_ ” she said, and Emil felt gratitude rush through him. 

“W-what? But you just said that the Hotakainen was up in the —”

“Let. Him. _Leave_.”

And Emil left without a backward glance, fleeing up in the mountains to find Lalli there for three days. 

Blinded by the willingness to help him — to see him again, and to simply _hold him_ , Emil had not questioned how his mother never once looked him in the eye when talking about Lalli. 

But — he really should’ve thought twice.

  
  
  


“Why did you let him _go?!_ ” 

“Hotakainen is not up in the mountains. I lied. Once Hotakainen’s tantrum will pass, and Emil will be away long enough— the heavens will yield their wrath. This will all be over.”

They would be terribly wrong — for the next three days that the moon would be held captive. 

Kan Laon bent his back and ceased breathing for Lalli. 

Tau-mari-u brought the monsoons of the world and put the weather in a disarray.

Lang-an of Kadalaypan unveiled the fury of the sun and receded her clouds from the earth. 

Mayari sealed away the beams of her moon and laid her death upon Lalli’s hands. 

If the gods allowed this to be — 

then _to be, they shall._

(This was the promise between them; to return and to be fulfilled in the end.)

And Emil’s mother would bow, too, once Lalli came back to ask one last time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so....i hope i managed to deliver this well.
> 
> any thoughts???


	8. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world heals itself back up - and we draw to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHH, and HERE WERE ARE, at the _END ___
> 
> _  
> _I apologize for any errors or mistake in spelling or grammar, because it's FINALLY HERE. I know it's sort of short, but this is it, guys, gals, and everyone in between. Now, _ENJOY _____  
> 

  
  


It was with the depth of the deep sea rising, and the thunders of a storm in a cloudless summer accompanying the empty hole in the sky that Lalli marched across Old Tolong, cutting through a sea of people, asking for repentance. He was exhausted from bearing the weight of the world; stopping the mountains from breathing, asking the gods to bend for him, and breaking apart the heavens. But there was still one more task. Just one more to have Emil. 

_Stop the world from spinning_. 

If this universe would not allow them together — then Lalli would break it, and reform from its rubble a world that could hold them together. He would make rock malleable, turn seas solid and make the skies fall — and even then, it wouldn’t be enough, if he could not have Emil by his side — _in his heart_. So one more time — one more time, he would ask. 

Thunder perpetuated each of Lalli’s steps like a war signal, and the rain pelted down in sheets and cataracts of force — evaporating due to the sun bearing its weight on the land. Nobody noticed Lalli, as they slowly lost hope, packing away their belongings to search for a new home. 

But no — the entire world was frozen in a dance of madness, waiting with bated breath until Lalli was given what he wanted. 

He wanted Emil and the failing world was evidence of the magnitude of his yearning. 

For the last time — he would not be denied. 

In front of Emil’s home, Lalli asked, _one more time_. 

The roof of Emil’s home pattered like a drum from the pounding rain, and below on the golden ground lay hardened, and heated rock. He peered into the dark home — almost empty, and almost torn down. But Lalli never faltered, and like a mountain, he stood before Emil’s mother, who wandered out of her home. 

She was a ghost of who she was now. Nobody knew rest anymore — with the moon dead in the sky, and with famine tearing the land. Her blue eyes held the dejected nature of defeat, and upon her lips were the grim set of sadness and fury. Lalli only stared on in pity. 

“I have put the moon to rest, have asked Kan Laon to do my will,” he recited, the spirits within him and around him fluttering along with his words, almost trembling. “I begged the heavens to pull back their veil and have begged for storms out of cloudless skies.” 

Emil’s mother trembled, shaking her head. 

Lalli smiled then, but there was no amusement on his face. “You do not want me freezing the world last, do you?” 

He knows that she doesn’t, because the sight of her sorry state screams fear, and Lalli — well, he does not wish to actually destroy the word, but that was what he was willing to do. If the will of the gods went his way, and everything fell into place for him, then the person before him had no right to deny the gods of their wishes. They had no right to deny Lalli — who was a curse, a blessing, born from a magic touched mother, and blessed with the gift to speak with the stars. 

If magic would not win over the love of Emil’s mother, he didn’t know what could.

He could steal Emil away, but a part of Lalli — still human and prideful, would be _hurt_ — to have his love rejected by the woman who birthed Emil into this world. It would be a humiliation that transcended physical bounds, to destroy the bits of his human soul. 

Lalli was loved so deeply by his mother, and never was he once rejected by her — even till the day she was whisked away. 

If Lalli whisked Emil from this earth without even winning the approval of his mother — wouldn’t he be just as terrible as the _encanto_ who took Tuuliki away? 

That’s why Lalli refused to be denied. 

“Where is Emil?” he asked earnestly, more for himself, than the weight of the world, and the earth that trembled beneath his feet. More for his fragile soul, fluttering in the cage of his body, refusing to be the monster that he was. 

And the world takes a pause, as lightning flashes midday — white and strange underneath the refuge of the sun. The depth of the ocean rumbles to a silent hum, and the rain falls slowly as the atmosphere once humid and insufferable — pauses to hold its breath. 

Emil’s mother teared up in exhaustion and when her shoulders slumped in defeat, she bowed her head. Her tired face fell into her hands, and there — in the god-torn streets of Tolong, between the raging heavens, the baked earth, and the ocean that threatened to swallow them whole — she acquiesced under Lalli’s behest, and the will of the gods. 

She apologizes, “I’m — I’m so sorry.” 

But it was not what he had been expecting to hear. “Lalli,” she says his name tenderly for the first time — to probably stop the fury she was about to incur from him. “Emil has — he’s been home since a few days ago and — well, I had tricked him into traversing the mountains...” 

Lalli stared at her, but he saw nothing. He was unblinking, and he could hear no call of the voices, nor words from the spirits. _She was speaking the truth._ Right from under his nose, he had not sensed Emil come home due to his desperation and she had — she had hid Emil _away_ from him. 

“Up in the mountains,” Lalli muttered to her, despondent, as the silent atmosphere shifted around him, wavering. “Two, three days, he has been up in the mountains? You left him? And you’re allowing me to…?”

“Have him,” she said tiredly, face pinched in defeat. “Just — _just_ have him! It is clear that neither his father nor I tie him down to Old Tolong. He has not come down. Even _once_ . For days. Not for us — but he’s been there for _you._ ” And there it is, the bitterness in her heart, at being bested by the lover of her son. To have Emil love him enough to wander around the mountain in the past long days and moonless nights. To have Emil love him enough that even those of his kin could not tie him down and away from him.

Lalli cannot believe his ears for a moment, his heart lightening as the weight of the world became suddenly non-existent, receding into the backdrop of insignificance. In the distance, _Cuernos de Negros_ called for him, and Kan Laon was whispering his name, and somewhere in his heart birthed an unbridled joy. It was almost euphoric and free, as if he was witnessing the world come into fruition. As if he was a witness to the gods and how they breathed life into the planet. 

It almost made Lalli laugh at how _easy_ she had said yes in that singular moment — but then he remembered the earth he had torn apart. The skies he had cracked open. The winds he had paused and the moon he had switched off in the sky. _None of it had been easy._

_But all of it had been worth it_. 

And without a backward glance to Old Tolong, Lalli ran to the mountains and for the first time — _it was Lalli chasing after Emil, up into the heavens, away from the ghouls that lingered in between_. 

  
  
  


* * *

Lalli could hardly breathe when he ran — and he didn’t even know what the time of day was anymore, with the moon hanging limply in the sky, with no indication of afternoon or night. But he never really noticed the land and how it bloomed back to life as he sprinted by. The waves of heat that pounded down reminded him of when he ran across the dusty fields to chase after that little chicken with Emil. It reminded him of the unshackled joy of those times and here he was — _free to live. Free to love_. 

The cattle and livestock that had died due to starvation slowly sprung back to life, and the wilted leaves of the flora, and the fissures of the hard earth woke anew, as Lalli’s steps ran by them. Dried soil now became moist and fertile lands. Fields stood upright underneath the heat of the summer. Dried wells refilled once more, and small streams wept their ways into babbling brooks. 

When Lalli surpassed the foot of the mountain and gained height, climbing _high, higher, higher_ , the rains slowly receded back into the folds of heaven, as he cut the distance between him and the sky. Every distance closer was closer to where Emil was and Lalli — Lalli could feel him _somewhere, wherever the spirits may have led him_. 

He hoped sincerely that no ghoul of the mountain had gotten Emil. He was pretty sure Emil could fight his own battles now, and he hoped and _prayed_ that Emil was waiting for him, in one spot, ready to receive Lalli and the wishes of his heart. 

As Lalli ascended the mountain, the skies began to darken, too. The sun held no more rage in its heart, and it slowly sunk below the horizon to rest. 

In the sunset, Lalli called out to Emil, “Where are you?! _Emil!_ ” 

Nothing answered back, and Lalli’s heart beat with nervousness. He prayed under his breath and then let the spirits guide him, deeper into the forest — till the path became familiar, and he was scouring up the banks of a river. Lalli continued on, and as critters came back to life, and the cicadas buzzed in the twilight — he trudged through and followed the familiar path, back to the waterfall where they had once bathed in the azure blue. 

Lalli looked around frantically as the stars began to hum back to life in the firmaments above him, greeting him like an old friend. The air in the mountains was still hot, but as he scoured around the crashing waterfall, he found Emil across the river, curled into a ball as he was sparking a fire to life. 

Just as the branches and twigs caught on fire from the sparks of his rocks, Lalli sucked in a breath — and from over the noise of the falls, he shouted, “Emil!” 

The mountains breathed a sigh of relief — and began to exhale cool air once more.

Emil looked up as he rose to attention, swathed in the blue of night, alight by the fire on the ground. His eyes were wide and hopeful — as if before him, he was wishing Lalli was not a dream. There were bruises underneath his eyes from unrest, and scratches littered his front. By his side, a dull sword rested, stained with the blood of beasts. He was a smudge of light and glinting metal under the surely missed sky. Lalli wondered how long he had made Emil suffer up here, with no moon to differentiate the night and day. With no proper shelter for him to rest. He wondered how long he had hurt Emil, and had kept him waiting.

Lalli looked him over, checking if Emil too, was real. Was alright. _Was fine_. 

And that must’ve been an answer, because before he knew it, Emil was scrambling across the river as if he hadn't seen Lalli in years, shouting back, “Lalli, _gods_! I’ve been searching for you!” He was wading through the water frantically, and if the sight of Emil hadn’t been so warm, sudden, and _fulfilling_ — he would’ve laughed at Emil’s ridiculousness and shook his head at the dramatics.

But Lalli was feeling equally ridiculous too, because he jumped right into the water and went to meet Emil in the middle — _like the rivers of Laon, converging to make a universe_ — and here they were: _we, together, us, both, them_. 

A promise — a cycle. 

One that returns and meets itself in the end. 

The water was cold and crisp and it woke Lalli’s senses to the fact that: they were here, and they were _now_. None of this felt like a dream anymore as from the distance, he heard the oceans rumble back into the blue deep, receding from the shores of the island. The world was falling back into place as Emil neared him — a few feet away. The clouds began to draw back in over to veil the town.

In the beat of his heart, as Emil came close to an arm’s length, he knew Grandmother Ensi was back home, in Old Tolong, and their home that was a beacon of light — finally died down. The cries of the spirits were coming to a silence. 

“I was worried you were _gone_ ,” Emil said softly, _tenderly_ , as he drew Lalli’s face in his hands. He delicately caressed his cheeks with his thumbs, eyes searching Lalli’s face as if one wrong little thing could break this fantasy. Emil drew his brows together in distress. “Three nights. _Three nights_ , I searched for you up here, and I thought I _lost_ you.”

He pressed his forehead against Lalli’s, and when Emil released a warm breath that ticked his collar, it filled Lalli’s heart with adoration. He pressed his forehead back in equal force, holding Emil’s hands to his face. He closed his eyes, and savored what they were, and who they were — _together_. 

“I’m here now,” Lalli said at length, but it was said like a promise. A truth written in the manner of a gospel. “I’m here _now_.” He repeated like a prayer. 

When Lalli opened his eyes and pulled back to stare at Emil — take in the golden strands of his hair, sticking to his neck, and the bruises underneath his eyes from unrest ( _from searching for him_ ), Lalli’s heart almost overwhelmed itself with the urge to _burst_ . To just have Emil in his arms was enough — _too much_ — so when Lalli pulled back, it was to say, “I made Kan Laon hold his breath for you. I made Tau-mari-u create storms in your name.” 

There was heat in his declaration and Emil could hardly breathe with the magnitude of Lalli’s words. His hands slid down from Lalli’s face, to trace sparks down his sides. Through the cold of the water, Emil’s hands landed on his waist, and Lalli sucked in a breath, stepping closer till they pressed, chest to chest. 

Lalli continued, softly, “I asked the sun to bear my fury, and I made the moon turn away with her tides.” Lalli’s forehead fell onto Emil’s shoulder, and he laid a fluttering kiss there. “All this for you — because I couldn’t bear being refused by your mother.”

Lalli shuddered as a breeze blew by. Quietly, he whispered, " _I_ _adore you so much_." 

Emil was silent for a moment, hardly breathing, and Lalli feared that he might’ve said something wrong. That the lengths his love had gone for Emil had scared him — _had terrified him, and made a monster of who he was_. Lalli knew how terrifying he could get — and deep down in his heart, he feared Emil turning him away. Abandoning the wreck of who he was. Lalli had always thought that Emil was the only besides Ensi who could deal with the depth of him. A depth akin to the darkness, found in the gaps between the stars. 

“Lalli,” Emil called him firmly. 

It made Lalli flinch, but when he looked up to peer into Emil’s eyes — darker now, because of the descending night, that his blue depths were no longer a hue — Lalli was right. _If Emil could run to Lalli while the world was failing — then he could handle all of Lalli, after all_. He receded the fear from the depths of his heart, and Emil chased the rest away with his lips, as he leaned up to meet Lalli’s — open mouthed and smoldering. 

Lalli melted into the kiss, wiry muscles and bones turning into limbless fragments as Emil scooped him up. Emil felt him sigh happily against his mouth, and his lips twitched up into a grin as Lalli wrapped his legs around his hips underneath the water. Lalli almost gasped and broke the kiss when Emil gripped him tightly by the back of his thighs and slowly — he brought them out of the water. 

It was cold as they emerged into the night, and carefully, almost tenderly — that Lalli’s heart might burst from adoration — Emil carefully set Lalli down near the fire he had lit by the river, and he didn't dare break the moment to complain about the uncomfortable ground. Emil had his hands bracketing the side of Lalli’s head, as Lalli peered over the shoulder of Emil. There, in the night sky, he saw the face of the moon coming back to life, and releasing her beams once more. 

The world was now fine. _It was perfect_. 

Emil slipped out a small bubble of a laugh, and when Lalli raised a questioning brow up at Emil — he only laughed so more. Lalli was about to snap a out a question, but then his stupid lover raised a hand, brushing away the silver locks of hair sticking to Lalli’s temple. 

“You’re beautiful,” Emil declares, and the words send heat pooling down Lalli’s stomach. “Thank the gods for letting me love you.” 

And Lalli is lucky that Emil doesn’t bear down all of his weight between Lalli’s legs and all of him because — _surely_ , he would’ve come undone and nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for being kissed breathless beneath the stars. Lalli allowed him entrance to his mouth — met Emil with his tongue — and the heat of it all was so much. _Too much_ — that Lalli pulled back with a whimper, and Emil, a gasp. 

Every inch of them felt like they were on fire, yet freezing where they never touched. Emil’s voice was heady and delicate, breath fanning across Lalli’s collar as he asked, “Lalli — what about Grandma? What about my gifts? They are _gone_. ” 

Lalli looked up at Emil, who was breathing heavily and blushing a flattering red from his golden skin, though the sight was marred by the painful worry in his eyes. Lalli rolled them over till it was Emil's turn on his back this time. Lalli held back on itching his back from the bits of grass that stuck there as he relaxed, settling down. His legs bracketed Emil's sides and the warmth of Emil was solid — _real_ — beneath him. It was distracting. 

“Forget your gifts," Lalli told Emil, soothing down his distress by clasping their hands together, Lalli's tattooed fingers kneading into the rough pads of Emil's, until their hands slid together to intertwine. Lalli glared down at Emil then, and from beneath him, Emil froze deliciously at the imploring gaze. "The gods gave you to me. _Allowed_ me to have you. No gift is better than you are right now, beneath me."

Lalli loved the sound of Emil's sharp intake of breath. He smirked, shifted on top of Emil, leaned down to plant a kiss on the edge of his lip, before pulling back up to splay a hand across Emil's trembling stomach.

"Th-then grandma? She's not missing?" Emil's voice was wobbly, and Lalli savored the fact that it was _his_ doing.

"She is fine and back at home. She returned — just in time,” Lalli answered him with a small, satisfied smile on his lips. 

Emil raised his brows in question as he gripped Lalli by the waist to keep him from moving on top of him _too much_. He had enough wits left to ask, “In time for what, Lalli?” 

Lalli’s eyes twinkled, and right behind him was the end of the world’s near destruction. Behind him was a time of absence and sorrow. Behind him was a tale of all his suffering and woes. Behind him was the tale of an old town, an island near the pacific, and an _almost_ forgotten story of separation, union, grandeur. 

Before Emil was their beginning. 

Before Emil was their _end_. 

“In time to ask her if you can run away with me,” Lalli declares — _a truth, a doctrine, a promise_. 

He leans down, chest brushing Emil's, hearts beating in unison. He whispers against his lips — an echo of Emil’s first words to him as a friend. 

Now, a lover. 

“So, _be m_ _ine_.” 

And finally, the end only began there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i have a thing for ending my Emilalli fanfics with either a gateway opening scenes for a smut, or some comedic mikrun at the end. anyways, ANY THOUGHTS???
> 
> If you've come this far, THANK YOU _THANK YOU _for actually reading this. I can't thank you enough. MUWAH__


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigrun and Mikkel return back home.

The hangover pounded across her forehead, and regret was practically  _ scrawled  _ across her face, if Mikkel had not written it down as another joke yet. It was daybreak, and the clouds were unveiling the meek sun, as a new day began to rise. When Sigrun had come into the inn, after Inay’s grand story, she could barely walk straight from the amount of alcohol she had consumed. Mikkel wisely refrained from consuming any, lest he wound up like the idiot by his side. 

“May I indulge myself and ask if you regret not taking my advice last night, captain?” Mikkel humored Sigrun, and she glared at him. 

“I can make scrubbing the deck your new hobby if you indulge yourself some more, Madsen,” she threatened. 

Mikkel grinned, “So, that’s a yes, then?” 

Sigrun was entertaining the thought of leaving behind her medic on this lonesome island, but she felt pity upon his poor, _bastard_ of soul and resorted to only flipping him off instead. 

When they had set off a few hours later to return home, Sigrun turned to her skald as they sailed once more. “You managed to find someone to fix things up pretty fast, Nils. Not even two days, and we’re sailing away! To be frank — it’s like a miracle.”

Nils, her skald, nodded in agreement, rolling up the sleeves of his uniform as he pulled at the ropes, double checking the sails. 

“Mhmm, they worked their magic on this, alright. Emil said he's had years sailing boats with his father, so he knew a thing or two about repairing stuff. I think he was being modest about it, though.” 

Sigrun paused at that, scratching her head. “Emil?” 

“Yep! Strange bunch on this island, though, cause his boyfriend Lalli came by and hissed at me.” 

Sigrun hummed in thought at that, and when she went up to Mikkel, it was to ask, “Do you think hangovers can mess with your hearing and your memories?” 

His only response was to quip, “ _ Definitely _ . So, I take it, you have come to regret not taking my advice now, hm?”

Sigrun mimicked Mikkel’s sarcastic grin with her own. 

Later that day, the deck was shinier than a brand new mirror. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some small comedy. Might edit this story again for any mistakes once I am not sleep DEPRIVED. Anyways, this is the official end, folks. THANK YOU.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Sugilanon- story/tale
> 
> ____________________
> 
> So, I hope ya'll enjoyed that small Prologue!!! If you have any comments or feedback, feel free!!!  
> -acina <333


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